Beautiful Mystery
by 2theSky
Summary: What happens when two worlds collide? Will the future get brighter... or will it crumble to the ground? (Embers series- Book One)
1. Prologue

(McKian's POV)

"Halt! Program! You are not authorized to-"

Feet flying... Body shaking... Chaos...

Why did this feel so familiar, like I'd done it forever, like it was just something natural?

Who am I kidding? I had been doing it for forever, at least it seemed like that. Actually, I was kind of surprised that they hadn't been chasing me before. They really should've been, but I wasn't about to tell the Occupation that. Let them chase the Renegade around. It didn't look like they'd be catching him anytime soon.

I rolled my eyes and kept running. "Shut up already," I snapped. Everything sounded distant, like it was echoing. My feet hurt as they bounced off the road; the city lights spun as I left them behind.

No way to turn around now... I didn't even know if I could find my way back with everything swirling around me.

I could feel myself falling, but there was no way to stop it. Hitting the ground, I rolled over on my side and gasped.

Trying to focus was impossible. I knew my energy levels were low, way too low, but since I was out after curfew, that was the least of my problems; the approaching orange lights definitely weren't anything optimistic.

And suddenly the whirling orange lights turned blue.

Bright blue.

Every noise blended together. All I heard was a lot of ringing.

It felt like I was getting sliced in two; I glanced at my wrist, watching as the bright blue started to fade, along with everything else- except the pain.

Slowly, over all the roaring pain, I could've sworn I heard someone talking, someone whispering close to my ear...

**"When the lights go down, I'm gonna be there. When you're on the run, I'm gonna be there. When you're hanging on, I'm gonna be there... I'm gonna be there... I'm gonna be there..."**

And then everything disappeared.

* * *

_Hello! Um... I'm kinda new here and this is my first time writing anything- for this site. (I'm better at drawing stuff.) A couple of my friends suggested that I post this, so here it is... (If it's really bad, I'm sorry!)  
_

_**- Bold lyrics from Capital Kings "Be There"**  
_


	2. Chapter 1

**PART ONE: ALLIGATOR SKY**

**"Remember to laugh 'cause you're living in a crazy world..." -Owl City**

* * *

(Skigh's POV)

"Hello, dimwit." I rolled my eyes and smirked. I couldn't wait to nail this guy.

A static-filled sigh came over the connection. "You know that's not-"

"Your name? Yeah. And I also know you didn't call me for small talk. Whaddaya what?" Braced myself for the request; I think I could've torn the steering wheel of my custom-roadster to shreds.

Another sigh. "Alan." (Whoever was over Alan must not care for him too much. All I knew was that he was some mysterious board member.)

"Shut up. Quit re-writing ENCOM. You already know what I'm capable of."

"Oh, really?" I gagged as he added that sickening twist to his voice.

I flipped on the turn signal, feeling the road crunch under the tires. "Fire him and I'll pull my stock. You know I'll pull it- every last bit of it."

"Wait, you own ENCOM stock?" He sounded surprised. I thought just about everyone and their brother had ENCOM stock; it seemed to be gaining everyday, well it used to.

"Yep. Didn't you see that on the news? Yeesh, you are fallin' behind with the times, dimwit."

This guy had a thing for sighing constantly. "Stop calling me that."

I pulled my phone from my ear. "Okay, dimwit." I hit the "end" button and threw the cell phone onto the passenger seat. "Jerk."

Again the road changed. This time an orange glow appeared, lighting up the way to my house.

Or, should I say mountain? (Live in a huge mountain. Long story. Really don't know all the details.)

It was late, I was exhausted after a long week of constant phone battle with the world's biggest back-stabber and I was pretty sure I'd driven away one of my best friends.

I looked up at the windows high in the steep mountain face. "What? I thought..." Blue lights flashed from the main living room window. And there were a lot of them.

Not good. Definitely not good. If my security got hacked, Alan was gonna be in a lot of trouble, not to mention me.

"Good God." I pulled into the garage and, remembering to leave my phone in the car in order to avoid the pain in my neck, dashed to the elevator that led to the rest of the house.

That ride upstairs seemed to last forever; but taking the winding staircase up would've taken longer.

The lights continued flashing as I stepped out of the elevator. Still not good. Maybe opening up the Grid and hacking into it's every secret for Alan wasn't the best idea. Maybe opening Kevin Flynn's archives had triggered some freaky self-destruct...

I climbed up the stairs to the living space and gasped.

"I am dreaming," I mumbled, trying to convince myself that there wasn't smoke pouring from the computer screen or that the blue lights, though dimmer, were flashing still. "I am dreaming. I am dreaming and this is not-" I smacked myself in the head. "Who am I kidding?"

The smoke was dying down slowly; nothing, not even the smoky computer looked damaged. But something still didn't feel right. And I've had that feeling a lot before in my life.

I, uh, I'll hit on that little detail called "my past" at a later time.

As I drew closer to the arch and the computer, I noticed the flashing lights weren't from the computer. They were... they were coming from the floor.

Last time I checked, there weren't lights in my living room floor.

My foot hit something somewhat hard. Whatever I'd hit groaned. I dropped to my knees. "Lights at max!" I shouted, my voice shaking. The lights in the house grew much brighter; they activate at voice command, which can be pretty annoying.

I gasped as the outline of a motionless form became visible. "What are you?" My voice was barely audible; good thing no one else needed to hear me.

Another groan. The person- couldn't tell if they were a guy or a girl- had on some sort of metallic-ish black suit with pale blue and yellow-green lights. And the lights were flickering; less, yes, but still flickering.

More smoke cleared. Black hair, but not long enough for a girl. Rolling them onto their back, I confirmed it was a guy. His hair was longer in the front. It fell over his forehead, ending right at his eyes.

I could feel heat pouring from his body. He shivered. That wasn't even remotely normal- not even close to normal!

Gently rolling him on his side, I gritted my teeth as soon as I spotted what he had on his back.

A disc.

I removed his identity disc and cradled it in my hands. The thing looked like a stupid frisbee (which I could never throw to save my life), except for a rim on the inner side that was lit up. If I was thinking straight, the second light-up rim, which is on the outside, if activated becomes a lethal weapon-

in the computer world.

Or should I say, in the Grid?

(The Grid was created by a man named Kevin Flynn. He disappeared almost twenty-some years ago. The Grid was supposed to be the perfect world, a computer utopia.

But that's kinda why he's missing.

And how do I know all this? Because I was asked to hack into this lovely piece of computer genius. Flynn created a copy of himself who became a corrupted nutcase (sounds like the average politician) and took over the Grid. Flynn's stuck there, while his creation gets slowly destroyed.

I was asked to specifically hack into the Grid and try to get Flynn out. But, according to the codes and archives, Flynn can't leave the Grid. Sadly, I could not figure out why. I am not THAT much of a genius.)

So, back to the guy lying unconscious on my floor. He had a disc, which ultimately meant he was from the Grid. He was a program, possibly an ISO? Wait, no mark on his arm. Not an ISO.

(Okay, ISOs were programs that Flynn did not create, but they showed up on the Grid anyway. And Flynn, I love the guy but he always had a screw loose, said that the ISOs were the key to unlocking the secrets of our world's religions, science and medicine. I hadn't worked out all the details surrounding them yet. But they were hunted down by Flynn's copy, CLU. CLU stands for Codified- Likeness- Unity. Nice name, huh?)

And once again, we're back to the guy who appeared out of nowhere who's laying on my floor.

This guy felt like a heater; he could've heated the whole mountain with his body heat. But he kept shivering. He whole body by now was shaking.

Not good.

The couch was just a few feet away. If I could lay him on it and get him covered, he might get a little warmer. Hey, I am not a doctor or a tech-know-it-all! And I don't suppose you had a program appear suddenly in your house!

He was taller than me- that was overwhelmingly obvious. His legs were huge, he was pretty well built otherwise. In the right gear, he could've passed as an official NFL player. I somehow- God only knows how- managed to get him onto the couch. After a few minutes, he was covered in three blankets and had a pillow under his head.

Now, if you are a normal person, you would probably be wondering at this point why I haven't called the cops. Well imagine being a 911 operator and hearing this:

"Hello? Yes, I'd like to report that a person from a digital world somehow wound up in my house and is lying passed out on my floor. He has on some sort of black suit with lights in it..."

The police would come alright- and they'd probably haul me off to some mental institute. And at the least, my reputation would be blown into itty bitty pieces of nothing.

And my life pretty much depends on my rep.

"Skigh?"

"De-YAH!" I jumped, whirling around to see... the last person I ever expected to see. The off-kilter suit and tie, the black-rimmed glasses, the blue eyes that could cut out every little idiosyncrasy...

Alan.

* * *

_Okay... I thought maybe seeing the whole Grid Uprising situation from our side, instead of being on the Grid, would give it a whole new perspective. And, well, I figured that maybe having a character who can jump between worlds would be cool. _

_(Being new at this, any reviews are appreciated. Thanks for reading!) :)_


	3. Chapter 2

(Skigh's POV)

"I, uh," either I was going hoarse or I was really freaked out. "I didn't expect you to show up again, after the..."

Alan tugged at his already loosened tie and sighed. "I'm not gonna shoot the messenger here." He climbed up the stairs and, where he usually sat when he visited, lay the guy who appeared mysteriously. He frowned as soon as he took in the couch. His eyes turned to ice and locked on my dark brown ones. "Who's that?"

"I don't know."

His head tilted. "Why are you holding a frisbee?"

I glanced down. "It's a disc," I pointed to the unconscious dude on my couch. "His identity disc."

"I am so confused." Alan looked back and forth from the couch to me. Heaven knows what was going through his head at this point; I probably didn't want to know. "How is that his?"

"He wears it on his back," I explained as I activated his memory banks. "It holds his memory, his morals, his whole life." I whittled it down to his very core codes.

Alan's frown looked like it would freeze in place. "People don't wear 'discs' on their backs." (I thought he would know this stuff already. Maybe working at ENCOM was getting to him.)

I looked up from the disc and had to push my blonde-blue hair out of my eyes. "Technically, Alan, he's not a person."

"What?"

I realized ENCOM'S head honcho was too tired to grasp my explanation and I was too exhausted to explain it to him- so I simply said this: "Lift the blankets."

"What?"

"Are you a broken record or something? Lift the stupid blankets."

Alan stared at me like I was from Mars; it wasn't the first or last time someone looked at me like that. "Skigh-"

"I know what you're thinking, but trust me, it's not what you think." I kept playing around with his codes, looking up occasionally as Alan inched towards the couch and slowly got his fingers under the three layers of covering.

And he pulled them back.

"What..." Alan stared in shock. His mouth hung open; at least his frown wasn't frozen.

"He's from the Grid." I waited for Alan's response for what seemed like an eternity.

And then it came. "Did... did you bring him here? To our world?"

"No." I didn't look up from the mess of codes. "That's weird."

"What?"

I looked up and noticed just how tired Alan was. "He has no designation, no name."

"How is that possible? Flynn created him... right?'

"Uh, doesn't look like it. His code isn't normal. He's not an ISO, so that's good. But he's..." my voice trailed off as I looked at him again. Something I missed, right on his wrist. "I am an idiot."

Alan frowned again. "Just because you have dyslexia doesn't mean you're an idiot."

"No, I missed this." I knelt by the couch and grabbed his left wrist. What looked like an over-sized, computer-screened watch was integrated in his code. "He's not a normal program. Not created by a User, not an ISO..." I sat his disc on the leftover space on the couch and rubbed my forehead. "Ahh... my head hurts way too much to figure this thing out now." I decided to play around with the weird high-tech watch. After fiddling with it for a little while, I sighed. "Still looking at square one here." I couldn't get the display to work; it seemed like there was no way to turn the blasted thing on. And, looking up, he was shaking again. "Alan, help me cover him up, will ya?"

We got the covers back over him. I shook my head and pressed my hand to my chin. "His body heat isn't staying consistent. Not good." I stood and looked at Alan. "Maybe we should let him rest. I- I don't know what the protocol is for unconscious people from digital worlds."

Alan laughed. "No one does." He slipped his arm around my shoulders as we walked back down the stairs and stepped into my kitchen. "You finally got a coffee maker?"

I grinned as Alan stared in shock at the polished black counter top. Sitting proudly by the blender was a new coffee maker that I had yet to destroy. "Yep. You want some?"

"Sure." Alan sat at one of the barstools and leaned on the tabletop.

Neither of us said anything as I got the coffee going. I sat on the counter and sighed. "He's calling again."

"Oh, great." Alan rolled his eyes and smirked. "He threatened me again. Can't believe no one ever sees him- or knows his name, considering he's a high point in ENCOM. Jerk."

The coffee maker buzzed- well, I don't know what noise the thing made, but it made a noise- and I grabbed two cups from the counter. "Did you see the New York Times today?'

"Yes... oh Goodness, how in the world did he dig up that much on you?"

I sighed. "Doesn't matter. Besides, everyone already knew."

Alan grinned and grabbed some milk from the refrigerator. "Wait, didn't ABC and MSBNC play your story when you were adopted?"

"Yep. Old news. Like I said, he's a dimwit. It's been two years, so everyone and their brother already knows..." I said, handing him a cup of black coffee. I hate those blasted flashbacks... (and the average flashback consists of getting a fist slammed into my face repeatedly, someone screaming at the top of their lungs, and there's always that pocketknife.)

"You saw it again?" Let me clarify something- Alan's been a family friend since forever, so he knows, in vivid detail, my entire past. His eyes were doing that thing again! It's like they could just zero in on any out-of-place-feeling anyone had.

I punched the countertop, feeling that blade burning as it sliced into me again. "It's always gonna haunt me."

**"No one wants a misfit, an invalid like YOU! I got cursed with you! And don't even think for a second that I'm buying your lies! YOU ARE A-"**

(I'll, uh, I'll skip the end of that. Let's just say the head of the orphanage left an impression of her ring in my forehead, and lip, for two weeks.)

I had a wonderful past, which we will return to... after a few million light years.

* * *

"Where am I?" I never heard that voice before. Oh no...

I jumped, almost throwing my half-empty cup of coffee from the counter. "Alan-"

Alan was gone.

Glancing at the clock, I grimaced. Three forty-two in the morning?!

Wait, the guy on the couch!

Man, my mind was going at speeds I never thought possible. I raced out of the kitchen and up the stairs- and saw Alan pinned to a wall by the program, a blaring disc at his neck. Geez, I thought Alan left.

"Hey!" I yelled; I was never real athletic, but I've learned how to throw a decent punch or two. Getting closer, I could see Alan wasn't scared, but the program was. His hair now had a bluish tinge I never noticed. He looked really nervous- and weak- as he held his disc, the outer rim blaring white-shot blue. "Uh, what are you doing?"

The program glanced back and forth from me to Alan, his eyes growing wider and wider with every glance. "W-who are you?"

"Chill, okay? We aren't gonna hurt you." He deactivated the disc and attached it to his back.

Alan stepped away from the wall in awe. "You were right. He-"

The guy turned; was his face naturally that pale? "Where am I?" He glanced at the watch on his wrist and tapped it. And the blue screen lit up. Yeah, now it lights up. He played with it for a second, then swayed. He looked even more scared as he shook his head. "Energy level's too low. It's way too low."

Exchanged puzzled glances with Alan. I was so stinking confused at this point in time. The program swayed again. He grabbed the glass wall for support. He looked at me with pleading eyes. "C- Can you tell me where I am?"

"Not on the Grid," I shrugged, looking at Alan, hoping he'd help me out. He didn't; I think both of our brains were fried beyond comprehension. "You're in the User World."

"How... programs can't... I..." He slid down to the floor, head in his hands. "I-I almost derezzed a user!?"

DEREZZED. From seeing those archives, I knew the definition: killed, dead, in a billion little pieces of code, gone, adios, etc. "Uh, yeah, you almost derezzed Alan."

He looked up at Alan. "Sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't-"

"It's fine. No harm done." Alan smiled. "You have a name, right?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I'm McKian, the Misfit." Okay, so he DID have a name.

"What?" I frowned; sounded like the story of my life, excluding most of the last two years.

"M-my code isn't written right," He explained, his voice hoarse. He pointed to his wrist. "I'm different than everyone else. I have the ability to change my talent, ch-change my coding, and no one else can." McKian closed his eyes. "So I am a misfit. I wasn't created right."

I nodded. That made total sense; a glitch in his code this severe meant he could transfer between worlds. But no normal program would've been created with that big a glitch. And, as I've said, he wasn't an ISO. And, as I've also said, my head was in overdrive, so forget about sorting it all out now. And now to be sympathetic. Him being a misfit was basically my life. "I'm Skigh. And trust me, you're safe here."

Alan and I sat beside him on the floor. I felt Alan tap my shoulder. He cupped his hands by my ear and whispered, "Um, Skigh, he's not totally safe here, you know?"

My answer? Alan got jabbed in the ribs.

McKian looked up at us. His green eyes could've melted the coldest heart; how could this guy, who I noticed was kinda cute, possibly be that much of a misfit? "You're gonna help me?"

Didn't even think about that answer: "Yes."

...

"You have lost your mind!"

"For the record, I am perfectly sane! And he needs help, Alan. You expect someone like me to leave him out in the cold in a world that will rip him to shreds if they find out?!"

We had been debating back and forth in my bedroom for the last half hour; McKian passed out on the floor, so we laid him back on the couch so he could rest. I figured that the transfer between worlds was changing his body chemistry around, or something like that.

Alan's finger stabbed the air as he rasped, "This could be game over for you- for BOTH of you! You're willing to risk your job, your life, his life?!"

"YES."

I knew how to push Alan's buttons. I'd gotten quite good at it. And, since I knew what made him tick, this was a cinch.

His eyes rolled back. "Look, I know you wanna be the hero here but-"

"This isn't about being a hero, Alan," I cut him off. "This is about doing the right thing." I started wondering if Tron was like his creator...

"You're really gonna do this?"

I nodded as I felt my eyes start blazing. "Yeah."

"And nothing I say will stop you?" Alan could make his voice as low and menacing as he wanted. No way on this earth was I caving.

"You got it."

Alan crossed his arms over his chest; he knew I'd won.


	4. Chapter 3

(Skigh's POV)

So McKian showed up on a Friday night.

And he woke up on a Saturday morning, early on Saturday morning.

And then he slept until Saturday afternoon.

From Friday night to Sunday night, Alan and I took shifts with him, teaching him the basics of our world. He seemed to have the government figured out in about five minutes; the constant stream of presidential ads on TV freaked McKian out.

He understood the word "drink". He could read, which was a huge plus, but writing was a little harder. McKian figured out how to copy the right letters down to make words and mastered the whole concept of sentence structure in under an hour.

The whole "eating" lesson was pretty funny. Hoping that he wouldn't puke, I cautiously showed him how to eat crackers. He ate half the box. And didn't puke them back up. But trying to get him to put the crackers in his mouth and "chew" on them was a little difficult.

McKian didn't say much about the Grid. He was mainly concerned with learning about the User World, how doors with doorknobs worked (thankfully my doors were automatic like the Grid's), how to write (especially his name) and why I lived in a mountain.

The last part? I had no answer.

He knew how to use the computer mainframe in the house; after twitching talents and pressing his fingertips on the cold touch screen, he grinned as every internet code- and Grid code- was right there before his eyes. And he liked music. No, that would be a massive understatement. He LOVED music. And he loved the sun.

So McKian was a fast learner. But there were a few things I had Alan teach him. They were in the spare bedroom for quite a while before Alan had taught him how to get a t-shirt on and showed him that boxers didn't belong on his head. He didn't wear shoes yet; and he couldn't because his suit had built-in boots. But he liked playing with socks. It was like watching a kitten with a ball of yarn.

McKian was like a sponge, absorbing every bit of info we threw at him. He was amazed with the spare bedroom, and he was shocked when I said it was his. (And if you're getting any images of anything stupid stuck in your head, trust me: I'd never do something like that! I am not a total idiot.) His skin was becoming a little darker, which made him look more normal. But the suit was a problem.

Until Monday morning.

I have insomnia. I always have and always will. So being up at four in the morning with headphones stuck in my ears was normal.

But hearing someone scream over Owl City at four in the morning wasn't.

Already dressed for work (jeans, t-shirt, sneakers and jacket- it's the uniform), I pulled the headphones out, leaving "Fireflies" blasting out of the tiny speakers, letting the sound waves entertain the carpet. The censor for McKian's door triggered it and I rushed in. And I was shocked.

The last seventy-two hours had been pretty crazy. But this made it pale in comparison.

McKian, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a wrinkled blue shirt (my brother's old stuff- the spare room used to be his room), stood there, gazing at his arms in awe. "What happened?"

His suit was gone, but where the lights had been he had pitch-black tattoo marks. He no longer had the suit... maybe it was time to call Alan and see if he could give McKian another private lesson. (I am a girl, if you haven't noticed yet. And having that kind of conversation with a guy who was about my age wasn't going to go over well at all. I think you can do the math here...)

And then his attention moved to his feet. He had toes! He could see his toes! McKian wiggled his toes and frowned. "What are these? Why are there five of them of each of my feet?"

"They're toes. Everyone has them," I said, grinning as he tried to step off the warmth of the carpet and onto the metal floor.

He winced and grabbed his foot. "That's COLD!"

"Put on some socks."

McKian looked down at the carpet and picked up a wadded up pair, and as luck would have it, they were mismatched. He sat on the edge of his bed and pulled them on, white one on the left foot, black one on the right. "Like that?"

I smiled and nodded. "That's perfect."

McKian smiled back and looked over the clock. "Four fifty-nine." And he could tell time now; after comparing the system of time on the Grid with ours, I worked out a new clock system so days and cycles were almost identical. Good news. "Uh, so it's... Monday?"

"Yep."

We both turned towards the voice; McKian still didn't fully recognize the voice yet, but I did.

"Yo, Alan!" I rushed to him and grabbed his arm, then added in a hoarse whisper, "Uh, you notice anything?"

"That he can tell time?" Alan's breath smelled like coffee, a lot like coffee.

I rolled my eyes. "No, uh, his arms. And he can wear socks now."

Alan's eyes widened. "Now I see it."

"You talk to him."

Eyes got wider and leveled with mine. "What?"

"I am not having this talk with him- even this current conversation with you is awkward. Besides, he might understand it better if it came from you."

Alan glanced up to make sure McKian wasn't watching our discussion. "Or, and I'm just thinking out loud here, he could try to stick his disc in my neck again!"

I looked up at McKian. "The disc's gone, too. Not the watch-thingy, but the disc."

"He still has hands."

I rolled my eyes. "Everyone does, Alan. Yeesh, please?"

"Please what?" McKian was sitting on the bed now, poking at the screen of the clock. He turned and looked at us. "What's up?"

I pushed Alan forward. "He needs to talk to you," I muttered, pushing him closer.

He turned back towards me and, with a smirk, hissed, "I'll get you for this." Ugh, more coffee breath.

"Good luck." I ran out of the room, the door sliding closed behind me before he had a chance to.

...

They were in there for over an hour.

And now to steer away from that... man, that is disturbing and overwhelmingly awkward to reminisce about.

So after getting McKian to eat breakfast, which provided much-needed practice with a fork and eating eggs, Alan left for work as I struggled to explain to McKian that his head did NOT go into the arm hole of my brother's old jacket. And then we had a refresher lesson on how to tie shoes. He probably felt a little rushed, but I had to prep McKian for boot camp at REVOLUTION Studios.

(Okay, so you know what I'm talking about: My brother who adopted me owns a newspaper company. He married a girl whose dad owns a television and radio company. When he got married, he merged companies with her dad. So it's REVOLUTION Studios, REVOLUTION Radio and The Daily REVOLUTION. "REVOLUTION" has always been in caps, and I am not about to ask my employer why. I don't need to upset my brother's happy marriage and father in law. And I don't wanna upset the half of the world's population that watches/ listens/ reads our material.)

We got into the elevator and McKian seemed to fall in love with the garage as soon as he stepped out of the elevator. "Wow, how did you get a place like this?" McKian stuck his hands in his pockets and spun around to take in the whole room; he looked like a typical person.

"My brother." I grinned. More flashbacks- and an acute pain from the stupid pocketknife. "Uh, I gotta get to work. Come on."

And, if it was even possible, McKian's eyes got even wider when he noticed the car. "Just like the roadster, except better!"

"Roadster?" I opened the passenger side door and noticed I'd left my phone on the seat. I turned it on.

16 missed calls.

I was thrilled I missed them- all of them were from the head dimwit himself.

"Yeah, it was offered as a reward if you could turn in the Renegade," McKian mumbled as he sipped past me and got into the car. And he even figured out the seat belt issue, too.

"Renegade? Did he get caught?" I shut his door and walked around the front.

McKian smiled and shook his head. "No. You can't catch Tron."

I froze, holding my door open. "Tron..." I whispered, shaking as I stepped around the door. Okay, maybe Alan needed to know this; or maybe he didn't, not yet... Got in and found the key in the ignition. Turned it.

McKian didn't say anything, just patted the seat, amazed at how it was so soft. His eyes kept darting around in awe. I couldn't figure out how to word anything because my brain felt like it was a scrambled mess of painful flashbacks and life. And after driving out of the back roads, I finally forced my mouth open and forced it to speak. "So, um, when we get to the studio, don't say much of anything."

"Okay."

I applied the brakes at the stoplight on the edge of the small town a few miles away from the lake. "Just observe and remember. This will give you a good dose of education in how our world works."

"Got it."

Pressed the gas. "Who knows? You might end up on air with me."

"What?"

I glanced over at him; his puzzled face was beginning to become very familiar. "You'll know what I mean when we get there and you see how the set works."

"So, this is your job."

"Yes." Continued through town.

McKian nodded, then asked, "How did you get it?"

"Luck, a lot of stupid luck."

"How long have you been doing it?"

I hoped he remembered what a year was as I replied with, "A little over nine months. There's only a few weeks before the presidential election and all of Spender's stupid ads are gone."

"Do you like it?"

"Yeah."

Apparently McKian's question button tucked away inside his noggin was stuck in the "on" position as he pressed forward one more time. "You don't like Spender, do you?"

Okay, now my "free thinking" mode kicked into overdrive. "Um, I won't influence your decision on him. But just watch how everything works and later you can tell me what you think."

"Alright." McKian started looking around again as we passed by the last few houses in the town like a little owl.

A cute little owl.

* * *

Two hours on air.

And five hours at work.

One hour before the show to prep; two hours after.

I figured I'd keep up my streak of annoying the critics. My ratings weren't built on an unstable foundation of lies- they were built on a firm foundation of truth and hope for the future.

But, being the main news show for the station I had to make sure stuff was entertaining, enlightening and ground-breaking. I had some consultants and other people in the network, and we had some of the best people working in our company; not to brag, but we had the most advanced sets, graphics, equipment and some very good resources.

And my show was in jeopardy; we'd had a lot of death threats, mainly because of the truth... and my past.

So, welcome to REVOLUTION Studios.

And well, McKian was fascinated.

"So, remember," I mentally double-checked the to-do list in my head as we walked through the REVOLUTION Studios parking lot, "you listen and observe. And if anyone wants a full name, uh, just say your name's McKian... Karson. Got it?"

McKian nodded and glanced around. After a couple seconds, I noticed he wasn't following me towards the building. "McKian?"

Turned around. "Oh, God no."

McKian was in the middle of a fist-fight with two guys. One already had a bloody nose; McKian's fist shot up towards the guy's face again as he got kicked in the ribs. If it hurt, he didn't show it. But instead, he wailed the bigger of the two (the much bigger of the two- he was a mountain in all black, and black isn't always slimming) in the jaw; the guy felt over on his butt.

Okay, time to get involved.

McKian flipped backwards, twisting himself over the remaining opponent's head. He landed perfectly, then flipped again to deliver a nasty hit to the guy's groin. The guy doubled over, cursed, and then threw a couple poor punches into McKian's chest. McKian gasped and managed to get the print on the bottom of his shoe imbedded on the jerk's forehead.

"AAAAHHHHHH!" the guy screamed as he pinned McKian and threw a solid punch (his aim miraculously improved in two seconds) and cursed again-

My biker-gloved fist smashed into the guy's mouth. He fell over. "Finally," I muttered. "Thought you'd never shut up."

Both opponents were bigger than McKian, much bigger. One taller, one taller and fatter. And McKian... McKian was sitting up on the pavement, holding his head.

"McKian, what happened?" I grabbed his hand and pulled him up.

He pulled off one of his leather biker gloves- identical to mine (something had to cover up the light tattoos on his wrists)- and wiped his hand over his split lip. "They were trying to derezz the door on your car."

Okay, that explanation was pretty solid, except for the "derezz" part. "Who swung first?"

His whole body shook as he struggled to catch his breath and pointed to the heavyweight. "Th-that one. Is this place always like this? I-I didn't want to risk being too different, so I didn't switch talents."

"No." I watched as blood, dark red blood, clotted on a slash across his lower lip. I breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that he hadn't burst into a million little fragments of data and fallen to the ground in little blue cubes. "Next time, you switch whatever you have to. Pulling out a couple stops won't hurt anyone."

...

The cops had come and gone. Thank God, the security cameras had been down for maintenance and we were the only ones in the parking lot. And we didn't say anything.

The inside of the Studios building is twenty floors; three for research, five for the paper and radio each, one for a break room, two for the main lobby. That leaves four more floors. One is Mr. Christopher's; he owns the company. And another is my brother's; he co-owns the company.

And I own the remaining two.

The set is huge; one floor is prep, the other the set. So McKian sat quietly in one corner of the set floor while I skimmed over the material for the show. Two hours on air required quite a bit of material.

I glanced at McKian as I pulled on my black and pink leather jacket. That jacket and a black shirt with the REVOLUTION logo on the front were my normal uniform for the show. The coat hid the mess of wires that raced over my back and led to several monitors, one being a radio headset. And that wasn't all the coat hid...

"FIVE MINUTES!" one of the camera men yelled. A crew of twenty guys and girls were maneuvering the cameras and lights. Some were double-checking the boom mics and sound.

Me? I just glanced around and smiled at my crew. They're awesome, all of 'em.

And then the high heels clanked off the floor and my heart dropped.

Maybe I don't love all of them.

Today the shrink wrap business sexy-suit was red; the heels were obnoxiously loud, and not only in sound. The hair? Another dye job, more heavy blonde highlights with no rhyme or reason whatsoever. And the makeup was overkill. Again.

"Skigh, your paperwork." And the voice was that of a two-faced, bittersweet waitress. I wish she had a mute button. Her daily manicured hands dumped a stack of papers about a foot tall on a table. She sighed. "This is stupid."

I looked her up and down. Hunter Frost, twenty-seven, single (for the millisecond), and... somehow working for me. Strange world. "Uh, how is it stupid?"

"Spender's getting re-elected. Just face it," Hunter snapped.

Rolled my eyes and zeroed in on her, locking eye contact. I could just picture lasers shooting out of my eyes at that moment as I replied with, "Well, I hope you have come to face the fact that my brother signs your paycheck." I crossed my arms and smirked. If she wanted me to play nasty, that was possible.

A dramatic sigh, but nervous and angry eyes. "You're adopted. No relation to him."

"You're replaceable. No concern of mine. " The kill shot nailed its target and she was down.

Hunter stomped off. "Good riddance," I whispered as I jumped onto the platform on set and flipped the dry-erase board over. The other side was a grey touch screen, which is what we needed for today's show.

I turned to check on McKian. And he was sitting there, still, watching as the cameras were getting moved to their rightful places and the lights were adjusted. I wondered how a guy could just sit there and be so stinking observant. When we got home, he'd probably know a whole slew of new vocab. And on set, no cursing, so at least he wouldn't be bringing that crap home and imbedding it in his mind. Some one walked past him with a copy of the blasted New York Times. Ugh... and they were bringing it to me.

"Miss Ryker," it was Matt, the new intern. The guy was really nice, coffee colored skin, dark hair, hazel eyes, kinda short. "Did you see this?"

I took the paper from him. "Yeah, it's old news by now. And that picture..." I smacked the old picture of me on the front. It was before I was adopted, before I had blue highlights. It was an old school picture, probably sixth grade; my hair was hacked off at my shoulders and my cheek was bruised from the night before. "And Matt?"

"Yeah?" This guy was so scared of screwing up.

"Loosen up a bit, okay? No need to be formal around here, unless Christopher shows up."

Matt nodded. "Got it, Skigh."

I smiled at him as he walked off set.

"ONE MINUTE!"

Grabbed my headset and shoved it down over my head. Some of the tech crew came over to double-check the wires and test the mic. I glanced over at McKian again. Still sitting there. But now he was massaging his arm. I made a mental note: check him when we get home for bruises.

I bit my lip as Matt walked up to McKian. McKian stood up and grinned as Matt held out his hand. McKian shook hands with him and, even though I couldn't hear the conversation, Matt seemed to be explaining something about the cameras. McKian nodded and followed him over to one. The two of them were playing with it, turning it more toward the stage. McKian looked up over it and then knelt back behind it, playing with what looked like the controls.

"THIRTY SECONDS!"

The two of them backed away from the camera, McKian glancing around nervously. The loud time announcements were probably scaring him. They smirked as the camera guy walked over and got on the platform that controlled the camera. He activated it and mumbled something, then shrugged.

Then I remembered; Matt had mentioned earlier that camera nine wasn't working, something with the controls. Him and McKian must've fixed it.

"TEN!"

Everything got quiet as the camera crew got ready and the director held up his hand to signal the last five... four... three... two... one-

"Hello, America! This weekend was, well, pretty rocky. Anyone see the Times?" I held up the paper. "Okay, so it says that the info came from a reliable source. And, so, this is for that very 'reliable source': hey, Dimwit, this is OLD NEWS!"

I threw the paper out off the set. "And, according to some random Media Matters people, I don't cover anything controversial enough. So, if you'd be so kind as to remove any young children from the room for today's show. Actually, remove any children from the room."

"So, everyone's heard about the Education Bill that's being presented to Congress this week. And, it being over two thousand pages long, hasn't been read. Instead, certain people in D. C. are hoping they can shove the bill through without anyone questioning it. Well, my crew here at REVOLUTION has been reading it and, after sifting through that nightmare, they are getting a pay raise."

Clapping and cheering from the crew.

I laughed. "Okay, but now back to the bill. So Spender's support numbers are dropping drastically. And, well, the Republican candidate Nathan Rose's numbers are on the rise. But if Spender were to be elected for another four years, here's what the future generations are in for."

...

"Hidden in this mountain of a bill is a curriculum agenda. And, since teachers say to question authority, let's show them we have learned from them."

I tapped the touch screen and slid the bar on the bottom, flipping through the covers of a lot of books. Yes, that sounds really vague at the moment, but let me clarify.

"There is a section dedicated to the great works of Edgar Allan Poe. But are the classics class-worthy? Students in fifth grade, even fourth grade in some areas, will be reading 'The Black Cat'. Now I am really hoping you had enough common sense to remove any children from the room, because..." I hated these books. I just wanted to get this segment done and over with.

I slid the screen to "The Tell-Tale Heart". And then moved on through several other authors. This bill stunk. If you wanted to make students depressed, this was the way to do it.

I glanced at McKian; maybe bringing him along wasn't such a good idea. He looked a little nervous, but more-so thoughtful. I continued on with, "And being a New York Times best seller-" insert certain New York Times best seller title "-should encourage you to life a long, happy life. The narrator is death itself! So full of life, and if your child comes home with a brand new set of words that usually get bleeped out, thank the school."

A few snickers came from the set. I rolled my eyes and shot a quick glance at the timer. 8:13. Okay, not too bad. "And so we press onward and upward. Students have various other titles that will be taught to them. But if taxpayers run the schools, then why is the government taking control? We can fight them, or let them control our lives. Take your pick, America."

And so this continued for the rest of the eight minutes. I would cast a fast glance at McKian, then keep going. The set had no teleprompters; I hate those things. NEVER, EVER, IN YOUR LIFE, WORK ONE.

"CLEAR!"

"Good! I was getting overwhelmed with joy."

Matt laughed. "Yeah, nothing like hearing about a ton of death and murder. I feel so encouraged to live a long, happy life."

I grinned. "Yeah, don't you just love the school system? It's a pain in the-" I stopped and grabbed Matt's shoulder.

"Ow! What's up?" I spun him around. "Oh, man. So, he's Mr. Christopher, right?"

I clenched my teeth and nodded. "Uh-huh. Just don't maintain continuous eye-contact."

He nodded and darted away from Christopher's towering figure.

Christopher, Ian Christopher, is the head honcho around here; he owns the building. Dark blue eyes, somewhere around six-foot five and about two hundred pounds. Same perfect suit, same perfect hair and for another woman in their early fifties, a single guy who lost their wife fifteen years ago.

** "Okay, so how do you expect to get adopted? Fool some old rich guy into taking you home with him? This isn't Annie."**

** "Yeah, good luck making it out of here... ALIVE."**

** "Maybe the owner of REVOLUTION would take you- oh, wait! He's too busy to care about a little brat like you!"**

** A million eyes staring at me as I just looked away.**

I cringed and shook my head, feeling my stomach start doing backflips. "Not the time for a flashback, not the time for a flashback..." And even though I got the memory to fade away, I still felt that blasted knife cutting into me again. My whole body went numb as I felt the excruciating pain for the billionth time. The memory sparked; fire burned under my skin.

NOT NOW.

After taking a deep breath, I looked up and quickly tried to smile as Christopher walked over and grabbed me by the shoulders. He grinned. "Hey, what's up with the paper-thin disguise?"

"I-I don't know," I sighed. "Just been a... a real strange weekend. Sorry, sir."

"Sir? You haven't called me that in forever!"

I slowly looked up. Hey, anyone with a brain fears this guy.

Christopher smirked. "I'm 'Ian' to you, okay? Don't call me 'sir', makes me feel old." And then he reverted right back to his "no-nonsense, strictly-business" face. "Flashbacks again?"

I nodded. "Yeah, but they're under control." I tried to look over his shoulder at McKian; he was still in the chair. Heaven only knows how he could sit there for that long.

Ian frowned and stared at McKian, then muttered, "Never saw that guy before... you know him?"

Another mental note for tonight: stay up and make up alias and alibi for McKian. "Yeah, uh, he's new around here." That was no lie. And if you can twist it so it's not a lie, then you're good to go in this world.

"And why is he here?"

I shrugged. No way to answer that now.

"ONE MINUTE!"

Ian jumped. "Dear Lord! Almost forty years doing this and I'm still not used to it!"

Grinned. "Guess I gotta go back on." As I stepped back on the stage, I noticed McKian was standing up. At first it looked like he was just stretching-

and then his eyes widened.

"THIRTY!"

I frowned and watched as Ian stepped back by the cameras. He smiled and said something to Matt.

"TWENTY!"

Looked back at McKian. He was starting to push through the maze of sound equipment, cameras and camera men. His eyes narrowed and he moved faster.

"TEN!"

Something wasn't right. Either I was gonna wind up with a mother-load of a lawsuit, or-

"Mr. Christopher, get down!" I never knew a voice that loud could come out of McKian. He dove forward and threw himself into Ian.

Ian turned and gasped as they hit the ground. Something clicked; people screamed; everything was pure stinking chaos. McKian buried Ian, his eyes shut. He looked like he was waiting for a bomb to go off. A couple seconds ticked away with nothing-

And then it happened.

One... two - three - four - five... six shots. Each shot was buried in the stage floor just a few feet away from me, right where Ian had been standing before he'd been tackled. The last shot came the closest to McKian and Ian, just inches from McKian's head.

REVOLUTION had just had an attempted murder.


	5. Chapter 4

(Skigh's POV)

"Get off me!" Ian grabbed McKian's arms and threw him off; McKian just landed on the floor, huddled and dazed.

In the span of about six hours, he'd already wound up in a fist fight and stopped someone from putting a half-dozen bullets in Ian. He was still kinda weak from the transfer, so getting thrown around like this probably wasn't helping anything.

And something else wasn't helping matters; the ON-AIR light was glowing red.

All this had just happened... on air... live... in front of millions. I glanced over at Matt; he didn't look as shell-shocked as everyone else. We made eye-contact and I slid my finger over my throat. He nodded and ran into the booth. "Okay, we're off!"

One of the other camera guys snapped out of it. "Then what's on?!"

"A replay from yesterday... we can fix it later."

Ian stood, brushed himself off and glared at McKian. "For the love of God, boy! What were you-" he swiveled towards the stage and staggered back. "Oh, man."

Yes, this set just got shot up and all you can do is tell-off the guy who saved your life?! (For the record, Ian isn't the best in a crisis.)

"Yeah, Ian," I snapped stepping closer to the bullets. McKian was sitting up on the floor, holding his head in his hands. He was shaking.

Oh, Lord. Did he get hurt? Don't tell me there were seven shots... maybe he was just in shock.

Ian followed my gaze and the angry fire burned out of his eyes. "You... you saved my life."

McKian didn't answer, didn't even look up. He just sat there. Everyone was silent, and you could hear him breathing.

And then, as if just the thought of silence had jinxed it, the noise returned.

"I'm calling 911."

"Already did it!"

"Is he okay?

"Who is he?!"

I watched as McKian ran his hands through his hair. Everyone was staring at him. And the only thought that made any sense was McKian saying he was a misfit, that he never fit in. Oh no. So much for keeping him safe and under-wraps...

Ian exchanged puzzled glances with me. I jerked my head towards McKian, then made sure my eyes zeroed in on him. Ian raised his hands in surrender and took a couple cautious steps. He knelt by McKian and gently patted his shoulder. "Hey, you okay?"

McKian still didn't move.

"Hey."

Still shaky, McKian looked up. He looked like he could pass out. "What happened?"

"You gave me one heck of a bruise, but saved my life. Are you alright?"

McKian nodded. "Yeah, I guess." I walked over and helped Ian haul him to his feet. McKian looked at me, looking just as terrified as he did on Friday night.

"Sir!"

Ian looked up as the security teams rushed in. "Checked the security footage, sir. Shots came through the open window over the catwalk."

"Does anyone need to make a statement?"

The head of security shook his head. "No, sir. Plenty of evidence on tape, but we're still running back ground checks. And sir?"

Ian winced and asked, "Uh, what is it?"

"This is already on international news, sir."

McKian put his head back in his hands. "Guess you were right...I was on the air after all..." he muttered, then peered through his fingers at me, freaked out to the max.

...

"No, Alan... we didn't have to say anything... just shut up a sec!" Man, Alan was not taking the whole attempted murder thing well. I sighed and readjusted my cell phone under my shoulder as I started dicing up carrots. We were back home; McKian was laying in his room, still shaking as I started dinner. He was not doing well, at all.

"... Alan, McKian is capable of this and you know it! He's- listen to me! McKian is fine, a little shook up, but fine... Yeah, I know. So much for under-wraps... it's like the fifth time Ian's nearly died... uh, yeah it was on the air... I won't be back on till Thursday... yeah, the set's getting ripped apart by the cops and then it's gotta be pieced back together... I'm thinking of getting a desk, you know, to give it a little more professional look... how's work goin'?... oh, boy... wow, I can't believe-" the phone beeped. I grabbed it and stared at the screen.

INCOMING CALL: RESTRICTED NUMBER.

"Uh Alan? I'll call you back- got another call. Talk to you later." I frowned and pressed "send". "Yeah?"

"Hello, Skigh. Ignoring my calls, are we?"

I gagged and rolled my eyes. "Hello, Dimwit." I stirred the salad and fought the overwhelming urge to throw my phone across the room. "Okay, what do you want now?"

A grating laugh came through the speaker. I pulled the phone away, my ears ringing. "You know-"

"I won't budge," I snapped back.

"And you mentioned me on air today... before the attempt on Ian Christopher's life. And your friend, the one who saved Mr. Christopher's life... he seemed interesting."

I shook my head. I was not wasting any more of my life on this lunatic, especially when he was starting to wonder about McKian. "Look, you're a dimwit. Accept that and stay out of my life."

Hung up. I kept working on dinner. I had to talk to McKian, but I honestly had no idea how to address a shooting that could've been fatal. I figured I should check on him; earlier, he'd changed the pass code on his door and locked me out. McKian really seemed intent on hiding from everyone.

One habit the outcasts have.

I put the salad in the fridge and wiped the sticky tomato juice from my hands. As I walked out of the kitchen, I froze.

Heavy breathing.

"Good God..." I approached McKian's door and sighed. "McKian?"

Silence.

"McKian, it's me."

No answer.

I bounced my fist off the holographic door. "McKian, I'll hack the code!"

The heavy breathing returned. I sighed, then said, calmer than before, "McKian, please. I'm your friend, okay? I'm not gonna hurt you."

I heard beeping coming from behind the door. It slid open. McKian stood there, leaning on the wall. He was pale; his eyes looked duller than before. He was still really scared. "S-sorry."

I walked in and the door closed behind me. McKian sat down on the floor and crossed his long legs, then mumbled, "Everyone was staring at me... everyone was watching me."

"Hey, it's okay." I flopped down on the floor next to him.

"No, it's not. On the Grid, all everyone did was notice me because I was different. And it's happening again." He looked up. "I was on the camera, wasn't I?"

I winced, then nodded. "Yeah, the whole thing was. But hey, maybe it's a sign."

"What kind of sign? That viewers are gonna see your boss get derezzed?"

"Um... it's 'killed'. Don't say derezzed- no one'll know what that means," I explained, playing with the green carpet beneath us. McKian nodded slowly. "No, I mean that maybe you should come on the air with me."

McKian's face... it portrayed confusion, amusement and, of course, he was cute. "I caught some of what you said, but I'm not cut out for wearing a headset and talking. I'm not a fast thinker! I'm a misfit!"

"A slow thinker wouldn't have saved Ian's life. And besides, we have a couple days off after this incident."

"So," McKian stroked his chin and smirked. "You want to teach me how to do your job."

I grinned. "That's about the size of it."

"My head's still spinning," he admitted, "and I just don't know if someone like me is cut out for... well, what are you even doing?"

Now, when people speak their words can breathe life or cut like daggers and kill. And politics... politics has two definitions. One: the corrupt crap that happens in Washington D.C. Two: standing up for your beliefs and electing people who will fight for you. That's my job, speaking words that breathe life and delving into the second definition of "politics".

But I had to know more about McKian before I answered that. I had to know about his world and his beliefs before asking him to get his hands dirty and join me at REVOLUTION.

"Before I answer that," I tried to piece together a sentence in my head. "How about you tell me who you are and... I believe you mentioned a Renegade?"

McKian grinned from ear to ear. "Yeah, I did. He's a great fighter, really stands up for what's right."

"Well, what's right?"

"Freedom, hope, peace, life..." McKian ran his hand through his hair. "Programs think he's Tron, and he says he's Tron."

And I knew who Tron was. What? You don't just sift through millions of codes and not discover that Tron was the hero of the Grid... and that he was supposed to be dead. "Is he?"

"No one knows for sure. He wears a mask and he has the same suit, but..."

* * *

Tuesday morning. We had about two days to master the art of television. Surprisingly, the whole REVOLUTION incident died down significantly overnight. And, thank the good Lord for Ian's oversized heart, he'd kept McKian's face and identity out of everything.

However, keeping his face and name out didn't stop the media's outrageous questions. Just take my word for it when I say some of them were WAY out in left field.

So, with Alan back at work, we were perfecting how to use a headset. McKian kept trying to adjust the blasted thing every two seconds; he didn't like the mic hanging in front of his face one bit. I think it was just freaking him out.

I started laughing hysterically as McKian pulled the thing off and threw it on the sofa. "Is this supposed to be some sort of torture device or something? Can it be adjusted?" He glared at me. "What's so funny?"

And then he smiled. "Okay, so I can't wear the headset. Big deal."

"Here, give it." McKian flopped down on the couch and handed me the headset. He stretched out on the couch, lounging and looking like any normal person. I couldn't help but smile. "You like the sofa?"

McKian jumped up, sitting perfectly straight. He cringed and dug his nails into the material. "I..."

"Hey, relax, will you? Yeesh, do whatever you want. Just don't blow up any national monuments or rob any museums. I'm not an overlord."

He slowly stretched back out on the couch, eyes still darting around nervously. "I am not used to this. Are you sure about this? About any of this?"

I played with the head strap, pulling the safety strap. "You are gonna be just fine. The feeling of nervousness is strong in this one."

McKian closed his eyes and shook his head. "Why is everything so soft here?" And then he started humming.

He was almost singing. And he was tapping on the sofa, creating a pretty decent rhythm. He even started using his wrist as a drum-

the wrist with the watch.

"Uh, McKian?"

McKian sat up again, eyes wide open. "What?" He looked down just to see the beginning of a light show pouring from the screen. "Oh no."

His whole body, clothes and all, raced with bright blue lines. The light marks had, in the last few day, developed some "sensitive" spots where it looked like bits of data and code; those started glowing. McKian's green eyes flashed blue as he vanished, going back into the Grid.

...

Tuesday afternoon.

I had found McKian's code in the Grid, and after debating it for a while, added a tracking device to his programming. He wasn't lost, but I had no clue if I could bring him back here.

After a couple of hours I decided to let "Fireflies" blast out of the stereo system in the house. Trying to work with my mind going at incomprehensible speeds was impossible. And besides, with my mind going that fast...

...

** "You really thought she'd believe you? You thought she'd believe a piece of scum like you?!"**

** Laughter, lots of mocking, stupid laughter.** (It always hurt to hear it, and it hurts to think about it. It also hurts to drudge up the memories about getting beat up... ironic, huh?)

**Cold, clammy hands grabbing my wrists and ankles. And then the lots of pain. **(That part's a little blurry... what I do know is that I got punched, hit, kicked and beat to a pulp with pretty much everything in the room. And I don't even remember what room in the orphanage it was.)

**"She doesn't care. We run this place, Skigh. We always have, we always will."**

** The darkness in the room... swirling voices... pain... my one eye was swollen shut and trying to get a decent breath was impossible without feeling like I was getting stabbed.**

** And then getting a decent breath was completely impossible when a shred of gleaming silver sliced through the black-**

"NOOO!" I jumped up from the couch, covered in cold sweat, tears pouring in rivers down my face. I shook, trying to get a solid breath; my rib cage felt like it did that night years ago after being bashed to bits. It felt like the hands were still weighing me down, restraining me. "LET GO!" I yelled at the invisible enemies that still had an evil hold. The tears started flowing again, more and more and more. I had so many memories of that... it could be compared to a living nightmare, or worse.

Maybe that's what it was. I tried to block it out, but when I slept, the nightmares came pouring in. "I hate this!" I screamed, driving my fists into the wall. "Make it stop! Make them STOP!"

"Make what stop?"

Tears still racing down my face, I spun around, fists up in defense; my mind was still bouncing between the past and the present. I breathed a sigh of relief and let down my guard. "Where'd you... what happened?"

McKian stood there, wearing the same wrinkled blue t-shirt and grey sweatpants. He grinned. "I installed a permanent link in my..." he frowned and tapped the watch-thingy. "What should I call this thing?"

I wiped my eyes and shook my head. "We'll just call it a watch, that's what it looks like."

"Okay. Well, I found the foundation codes in your mainframe and just downloaded them into my code. I stopped by one of the clubs, and apparently the Renegade and General Tesler had a huge showdown in Argon Square. Tron almost got derezzed, but everyone's saying he's fine."

We sat down on the couch. McKian frowned. "You okay?"

"I- I don't know. I just need a break from-"

"Me?"

I looked up in shock. "No, no McKian. The whole incident yesterday... just shook me up. I-"

My phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out. "One message."

"Who's it from?" McKian was staring at my cell phone, probably trying to figure out how it worked.

"Matt. He says that the police are still ripping everything to shreds at the studio and that we're doing re-runs until the day before the election."

McKian nodded and looked down at the floor. I wasn't even sure if he understood half of what I'd said, and I was fried, too fried to care.

I fell back against the sofa, little needles sinking into my skin. **NOT NOW.** With the time off, the rest of the media could hurl their insults at Rose; and with his campaign staff, he'd deflect each and every one of them. He could easily pull it off without Uprising's help.

Who am I kidding? Presidential candidate Nathan Rose could kick Eric Spender's butt without anyone's help.

I smirked. I can kick anyone's butt, too- with a little help from the Guy upstairs...

* * *

_Some more flashbacks coming in the future. Thanks for the reviews! :)_


	6. Chapter 5

(Mac's POV)

Night-time again.

I closed my eyes and lay on the bed that Skigh called mine, trying to forget everything.

I could still hear the shots being fired. I could still feel the man- was his name Ian or something?- grabbing my arms and throwing me off him. And I could still feel my head spin from everyone staring at me...

I just wanted it to stop.

Programs stared at me because I was different already, and now the Users did too? I'd even got in a fight with two of them. Maybe that's why my body ached and I had a red mark on my lip that wasn't there before.

I opened my eyes and sighed. There was no forgetting. Every single stare, every single threat, every experience... they were stuck in my head. Some programs said I was an ISO, but I wasn't. Some programs said I was a glitch.

That just happened to be correct.

A glitch, a glitch, an unwanted, imperfect glitch. And like I'd ever had the slightest intention of matching CLU's idea of perfect!

And no matter how hard I tried, some things just wouldn't stay in my head. Learning about the User world was practically impossible. All of this was impossible.

Maybe if I just slept, maybe I could forget for a little while.

And after laying there for a while, I sighed and sat up. There was no way, in either world, that I could sleep, at least not for a while. Too many nightmares...

and way to many questions.

...

**"I've seen it before- afraid of what's in store, but this time I'm ready to go..."**

**"...I know, I know we're gonna take it all the way. I know, I know. It doesn't matter what they say. 'Cause when the sun shines down and wipes away the grey- I know, I know we're gonna take it all the way..."**

**"...The clock's tickin' down, the eyes are looking now- I think they're ready to know. There's something more to this- something that can't be missed, no matter which way you go..."**

...**  
**

I sat up, shaking and cold. Had I really fallen asleep? Had I really been able to sleep?

And now I was awake again. So much for sleeping.

I rolled onto my stomach and buried my face in the pillow. I shivered. If I did sleep again, the nightmares would be coming...

...

**"I can see it in your eyes. You've been looking for a better life, but you don't where to find it. Well, get ready- I can see the rising sun. And your change is about to come. Yeah, your change is coming..."**

* * *

**_-Lyrics from Capital Kings "All the Way" and Royal Tailor "Hope"  
_**

_(Anyone wondering how to pronounce "Skigh" yet?) _

_Thanks for the reviews! :)_


	7. Chapter 6

(Skigh's POV)

The election was getting closer, and so was McKian's debut on national television. He'd mastered a lot in the first week, and halfway through the second he had just about everything down pat.

I'd called Matt and arranged for a desk to be set up on the stage, that way our election coverage had a mock-professionalism touch to it. (If you're gonna set up a desk anywhere, might as well put the blasted thing in front of a huge sofa that way you can relax and look serious. Besides, the one I had on set was an art desk, and the thing was the size of a peanut.)

The flashbacks had died down, thankfully. And my brother, or my boss, hadn't showed up yet either. So we were doing well.

...

Two days before the election coverage.

"I look stupid in this."

I bit my lip so I wouldn't laugh in agreement. After rummaging through my brother's stuff that was left in his old room, McKian and I were trying to piece together some outfits he could wear on air. The only problem with everything? McKian's extra long legs refused to fit in any pair of pants; and my brother's shoes were a little small. "Okay, you're right. This isn't gonna work. AT ALL."

"So now what?" McKian was pulling off the suit coat, scratching his arms as he threw it on the floor. "What is that made of? That's not soft. It's rough, scratchy!"

"Yeah, it looks like dirt and feels like it, too," I muttered as I threw it back in a tote. "We need to go shopping."

McKian's confused look came back. "What?"

"We need to go buy you some clothes of your own," I said, throwing an orange hoodie at him that fit pretty well. He caught it and stared at it like he was afraid of it. "You okay?"

He nodded. "Yeah, but this color..."

"Orange. The Occupation wears it. Orange means nothing here."

McKian pulled it over his head. His bare chest now not only had the tattoos, but also some sensitive marks that were different shades of green. (We discovered those when the two of us agreed on a wrestling match. Let's just say I hit him pretty hard in the stomach area and leave it at that.) "So where do we go to get my clothes?"

One place where I could help him out. "The local mall. I think they'll have sizes that'll fit you."

Blank expression in response. Typical for someone who'd never heard of or been to a mall.

...

"So, tell me a little more about Tron."

The Renegade (we both called him Tron for some reason) was an easy conversation starter for us. McKian nodded and then began, "You know how it all started, right?"

"Yeah, he cut off the head on CLU's statue and blew it sky-high. Then he hijacked a helicopter," I answered, flipping on the turn signal as I pulled into a Wendy's drive-thru.

McKian smiled. "Yeah. Then he derailed the Light Rail in Argon, switched into the real Tron suit, busted a guy out of the Games, either set up or blew up an energy drill-"

"Wait, you said he switched into the real suit?" For a second I thought I'd pushed the brake pedal through the floor.

"Yeah, he had on a basic suit- black, I think- and then had a more complex white one, one that looked like the real Tron." McKian's eyes narrowed; you could see the curiosity blazing in them. "Why?"

I pulled up behind two other cars in the drive-thru lane and shifted to "park." "A burger okay? Maybe a Sprite?"

McKian nodded. "Whatever you get is fine. Now why did you ask about his suit?"

"Because, if my logic is correct and my research is correct, too, then if the Renegade switched suits, he would have to have another code, right? You know, direct access to the real disc."

His eyes went wide. "I get it. To have the real suit, you would need the real disc, or at least half. Then a program could just switch discs."

Shifted out of "park" and drove forward one space. "And if you isolate the Renegade's code, you'd have his identity. And with you having inside connections to the Grid-"

McKian laughed and cut in with, "I see where you're going with this."

A blue light flashed off to my right. "Were you seriously in a talent mode there?"

"Maybe."

We both laughed as I pulled up to the window and placed the order. The voice coming over the speaker scared McKian; he started grabbing around at stuff in the car, preferring the seat and door handle. He stared at the little speaker, probably wondering where the voice came from. He relaxed when we pulled up to the window and saw a guy take my cash and in the same voice as the one over the speaker say, "Hello. Welcome to Wendy's. May I take your order?" I was pretty sure permanent nail marks would be left behind in the door handle. "Um, so do you think we could figure out who the Renegade is, if he's really Tron?"

Our eyes locked again. "Yeah, we probably can."

And the rest of our conversation was basically about what went on the burgers. And then it shifted to why soda was fizzy and had bubbles in it, after I explained what bubbles were. After that, McKian tried using a spoon to eat his Frosty. He did pretty well, too.

And then we arrived at the mall.

...

"Okay, there are some things I'll have to pick up at another store, but for now, this'll do for the majority of it." I parked the roadster down at the end of the lot; trying to decrease the chances of it getting a huge dent or a headlight out. "Mainly, we're here for a few shirts, a jacket or two and jeans, okay?"

McKian just nodded. He kept glancing back at the car, and then started looking around everywhere else. Definitely on edge. "You'll help me out, right?"

"Yeah."

...

"How about this?"

I looked up and started laughing. "No, no capital N-O!" There was no way on this earth that I was buying him a dress shirt. I could just imagine him being fascinated by all the shiny buttons-

and then I looked up again and he was actually poking at them. "Hey, how's this?" I held up a light blue polo.

McKian had a little smile on his face as he put down the silky dress shirt and started rubbing his hands over the new one. "I like this one."

"Okay." I looked in the cart. So far we had a few pairs of pants, and around ten shirts. Time to move on... to shoes.

"So now what?" McKian asked as he picked up a black long sleeve shirt from the cart and wrapped his hands in it.

"We move on to-"

"Skigh?"

I stopped and cringed. Not that voice, please not that voice...

Alex.

My brother, the last guy I expected (or needed) to see right now. "Alex..." Drew a huge blank. "Uh, what are you doing here?"

"Getting a new suit." His grey eyes narrowed as he eyed McKian. "Who's this?"

I sighed and looked back and forth between the two before introducing McKian. The two nervously shook hands; maybe it was more a tension thing. All I remember is that I was nervous.

"So, McKian, where're you from? And, uh, you have a last name?" You have officially met Alex Ryker, my older brother, the guy who adopted me. He's just about as tall as Ian, but his hair isn't grey... at least not yet. Alex Ryker; twenty-six, inherited a newspaper company (and an insane amount of cash) from his parents, married an even richer guy's daughter, easily intimidating and- if you're on his good side- your best friend. But right now, him and McKian weren't getting off on the right foot, or any foot apparently. He was acting like he was my dad and I'd just brought home a creepy stalker boyfriend.

McKian answered with ease. "My last name is Karson."

"Still doesn't answer my first question." Alex crossed his arms, his voice really rough and nasty.

Thank God; my phone started vibrating. I pulled it out, relieved; missed call from Dimwit. "We gotta go. See you later, Alex."

We started walking away, hoping that Alex wasn't following. McKian tapped my shoulder and leaned close to my ear. "Is it safe to see if he's following us?"

"Not yet," I muttered. "Just don't look back- it'll only make him curious." And if curiosity is supposed to kill the cat, then a specific cat named Alex had nine very stubborn lives.

After a couple more seconds that felt like endless hours, I cautiously looked back.

Wrong move.

Alex stood stone still, glaring. His let hand rose up to his ear and he uncurled his fingers to reveal his phone. I groaned and turned around.

Definitely the wrong move.

...

"Who is he?!"

"A friend."

"Where's he from?"

"Somewhere."

"How long have you known him?"

I pressed my hand over my cell phone, hard, and shook my head. "A while, okay?"

"No, not okay. Who is he?! Skigh, I'll run a background check-"

"You will NOT!" I screamed back, hoping his ears were ringing as much as mine.

Alex's retort came back as a bunch of static. "I can and I will, Skigh. I adopted you to give you a second chance-"

"Just shut up, okay? I know that full well. And besides, if you believe in second chances like you say you do, then take your foot out of your mouth and listen."

"What am I listening to?"

I sighed and stated, "McKian isn't trouble. He just needs a little bit of a boost, that's all. I trust him."

"Trust is good and all, but how do you know that he's not going to be some huge publicity issue? The media can chew up anyone and spit them out."

Stop acting like a jerk, Alex. "Fine, run your crummy background check on him. Uh, when will you be doing that anyway?" Either I caved, or Alex would've personally chewed me up and spit me out.

"Tomorrow. Gotta go." Alex stopped for a second. "I love you, you know."

"Yeah, I know. Love you, too." I hung up and glared at my computer. Thankfully, McKian was sleeping- again- in his room and couldn't hear word one of our little conversation. "Guess I gotta build an alibi."

* * *

The next morning, I can safely say that an eighteen year old named McKian Karson woke up. His records were lost in a a fire at the orphanage (or a school for boys or whatever I'd typed in the computer) that he had grown up at; and, conveniently, the majority of people who had run it were either passed on or in nursing homes. A sketchy background over all.

Perfect.

I smirked as my phone rang at seven in the morning; McKian looked up from his bowl of cereal and frowned. "Who is it?"

"Alex." I hit send and grinned. "How'd your background check go?"

A loud, crackling sigh echoed over the line and my brother snapped, "It was very vague. Are you sure this guy is legit?"

"You saw him?"

Alex sighed. "Yeah."

"And he talked to you."

"Uh-huh."

"And he has a legal record." I knew pressing him could be over-kill, but hey, brothers and sisters push each other's buttons. "So is he real?"

Alex laughed. "I guess so... but hey, I wanna talk to him, get to know your new friend."

That stupid tone, that stupid "he's your BOYFRIEND" tone. I rolled my eyes. "Okay... when? I mean, not today- we have the pre-election coverage until six today-"

"After work, tonight."

Shoot. Shoot, shoot, SHOOT! Working from noon till six, and then trying to avoid puking while Alex battles McKian at (probably?) Red Robin?! I do NOT think so. "Uh, who else will be there?"

"Griffyn, of course," Alex said with a laugh. "And Dad, too."

Ian... could this get any worse, any more convoluted?

"Okay." I couldn't get anything else out of my mouth; I kept drawing blank after blank.

"See you at the studio."

I threw off my baseball cap and ran my free hand through my hair. "Yep. See you there." Hung up. "McKian, when's your birthday?"

"June 6."

"Your age?"

"Eighteen." McKian frowned and crossed his arms. "What's up?"

I ignored the question and pressed on. "Where did you grow up?"

"A boy's school in Pennsylvania. But what's that got to do with-"

"Any foster homes?" I kept going.

McKian rolled his eyes and mumbled. "None."

"Best classes in school? And what school?"

"Math, computer animation and Lincoln. Seriously, what's going on?"

I took a long sip of orange juice, stalling. "Um, my brother wants to get to know you better. At a restaurant."

"That... that doesn't sound good. "

"It's not the best scenario, but it's far from the worst." Took another swig of orange juice and continued. "You know your profile, right?"

McKian stood up and carried his empty bowl over to the sink. "Yeah."

"Okay, good. If there's a question you can't answer, I'll take it. Just don't let on about the Grid, about Tron, the Renegade, CLU- any of it. My brother will try to trip you up, so keep track of what questions he's asked you and your answers. Maybe call him out on it."

He smirked. "This is gonna be fun." Sarcasm; yep, he had that down.

"It's more of a crash-course in studying our world, but you've aced it all so far."

I watched as McKian blushed a little and turned away. He looked a little uncertain...

...

I have no clue how McKian could keep all that info crammed in his noggin, but he kept it in their without his brain exploding into little bitty bits. His knowledge of computers allowed us to amp up the graphics by syncing his watch with the computer system in REVOLUTION. And he was excellent on air. I think after everyone in the studio had surrounded him and praised his "insane level of awesomeness" (thank you, Matt), he was definitely scared and ready to burst.

After finally breaking free from the crowd, McKian stumbled over to me by the desk on set. "Did I mess up? I-I think I might have slipped-"

"Relax, okay? You did fine, and not just on air." I pulled off my headset and laid it down, then sat on the edge of the desk.

"I honestly have no idea how you do this everyday for a job," McKian whispered as he sat by me, cradling his headset in his hands like if he dropped it, it would shatter into a gabillion little pieces.

I smiled and looked him in the eye. (Wow, we were making a LOT of eye contact.) "I don't know either. I honestly don't-"

and there came the clacking heels again.

Hot pink suit, hot pink heels, hot pink EVERYTHING. "Who's this handsome guy?"

McKian's eyes turned into tiny green slits as he took in the overwhelmingly pink sight of Hunter. He seemed like he didn't know whether to say his name or something else, like an insult.

"This is McKian. McKian, meet Hunter," I spat out the last part, pointing back and forth between the two.

Hunter grinned. "You single?"

McKian just shrugged. And Hunter, well, Hunter sighed. "No girlfriend?"

"Uh, none that I'm aware of."

Hunter laughed and stepped closer to him. "Where are you from? I haven't seen you around here before..." her cocky voice made my stomach churn as she smiled again.

This lady should not be working here; she would be better off as a model for Victoria's Secret. "He was here before, Hunter," I snapped. This wasn't jealousy; a random hobo from the middle of nowhere could've told Hunter that the two of them wouldn't work out. At all.

Hunter stepped right up to McKian and pulled on the collar of his blue polo. He glanced at me while she traced one of the buttons with her finger. "What are you doing?" McKian forced out, scooting himself a couple of inches backward on the desk. He tugged on the sleeves of his leather jacket, making sure they covered his tattoos and the watch.

"Lighten up, will you?" Hunter stepped forward again, this time noting how McKian had obsessed over his coat sleeves being pulled down. Suddenly, before either of us could react, she grabbed his right arm and yanked the sleeve up his arm, revealing the long black marks. She gasped and jumped back like he had the plague. "What is that?!"

"It's a tattoo, Hunter," I jumped up and put myself between her and McKian. "You do know what that is, right?"

"Yes, Skigh," came her prissy remark. "I am no airhead."

I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms. "That can be considered a matter of opinion."

Hunter shook her head. "It's a stupid tattoo. Why be so discrete, so secretive?"

McKian stood up and answered with a straight face. "Maybe I have my reasons."

I never saw her eyes get so wide. Hunter glared at both of us and stormed off, running straight into my brother. She stormed away from him, too; and, Lord forbid that he could have gotten a business call, Alex came over. "What was that about?"

"She's just a jerk," McKian mumbled as he readjusted his coat to once again hide the tattoos.

Alex started in surprise, then managed, "She certainly seemed like one. McKian, right?"

"Yeah." They shook hands again, tension flowing through both of them. McKian looked totally sincere and focused, like he was only concentrating on Alex.

My brother pulled his hand away. "Nice grip you've got there. What did you do, wrestling or something?"

"No."

I watched my brother's reaction. Already, McKian was unnerving him with simple and direct answers.

Good. At least, for now.

...

"Who's that?" McKian nudged me and pointed towards the woman standing beside Alex as they got out of their car (the thing was actually a limo; go figure). Short brown hair and brown eyes, tan skin, short and pretty.

I smiled and answered, "That's Alex's wife, Griffyn."

"Griffyn. Wait, so they're 'married?'"

"Yeah. Did Alan mention marriage or something to you?" I started wondering how much Alan had told him; maybe the head Dimwit had driven him crazy (everyone calls him something different). I decided to think that McKian had learned just about everything, and left it at that. After all, I was trying to let him develop his own ideals, yet they were still curving in the same path as mine. Not like that was a bad thing.

McKian nodded. "He mentioned some other stuff... should I tell you?"

"No, I already know what he told you."

Great, now he was freaked out again. "How do you know?"

"I've know for a while, about six or seven years now," I muttered. "Everybody eventually knows."

McKian's eyes rolled like slot-machines. "Wow... let's not get into anymore of it."

"Deal." I'll admit that the whole concept of him learning this much this fast was strange. No, awkward sounds a little better. It was awkward.

Alex smiled and introduced McKian to his wife. Griffyn was much nicer and not so hostile towards a new face. She married him about three months after I was adopted.

And again: I will get back to that later on. I HATE FLASHBACKS.

...

"Welcome to Red Robin." (See, I told you we'd wind up there!) The same old welcome routine played out as McKian started flipping through his menu. I nudged him and we both grinned.

Alex cleared his throat. "So, uh, Ian's running a little late."

I nodded and pointed to the drinks section on McKian's menu. "Okay." There wasn't much else to say.

Griffyn smiled at McKian. "So, where are you from?"

Oh, shoot. So much for avoiding the major reason why we were here. McKian smiled back and replied with, "A small town."

Alex picked up the questioning. "And where would that be?" They were playing the good cop - bad cop game, switching interrogators. (If you couldn't tell, Griffyn was the good cop. She's always the nicer of the two.)

McKian looked at the menu again before answering. "Middle of nowhere."

I wouldn't have been surprised if Alex's glaring eyes started shooting lasers at me. "Sounds pretty vague."

"Middle of nowhere in Pennsylvania." McKian and I exchanged nervous glances. So far, so good.

It felt like an earthquake rocked the table; turns out it was just Griffyn driving the tip of her high-heeled shoe into my brother's leg.

The waitress returned and we ordered our drinks. I slipped in McKian's order for a Root beer and started praying that he wouldn't puke from it.

"McKian, we don't know you that well," Alex leaned on his arm and stared intently at both of us, then said, "How about you enlighten us?"

McKian pointed to something on my menu, laid his on the table and folded his arms over his chest. "Okay, I'm eighteen, I grew up in the system and I'm pretty solid with computers."

I noticed something blue blinking in my peripheral vision. McKian's coat sleeve had slid some, revealing part of the watch, its screen flashing pale blue.

Talent mode... nice one, McKian.

The two of them kept going back and forth, Alex shooting at McKian and McKian firing back. Griffyn and I smirked at each other and lounged in the arched seat. We both knew that Alex wasn't letting up anytime soon-

"Hey, guys!"

Automatically sat up as Ian walked over. He sat down just as the waitress came back over with our drinks. We placed our orders and then the bomb dropped as Ian's eyes widened and he blurted, "Hey, I know you!"

McKian was hypnotized by Ian's pointing finger. "Yeah," he mumbled. Our section of the seat shook as he tried to shrink down.

"Wait, you know him?" Alex stared at his father-in-law in shock. "How-"

"He saved my life on set, you know- a couple weeks ago when I almost got shot," Ian ignored Alex, cutting right in over him. "I wanted to talk to you after, but you disappeared."

I glanced at McKian; he didn't look like he knew how to respond. "Yeah, we both have a habit of performing vanishing acts," I stated, knowing it wasn't the most inconspicuous thing to say. McKian unwrapped his straw and stuck it in the soda. He just stared at the glass, fist clenched as Alex pressed him again. All conversation ceased once more as our appetizer was brought over. In silence, Alex grabbed a chip and dipped it in the salsa, his eyes never leaving McKian. McKian tugged on the collar of his coat and slid down further in the seat.

And a few minutes later, the burgers arrived.

The rest was either us eating or McKian getting grilled by my brother while Ian rolled his eyes.


	8. Chapter 7

(Skigh's POV)

**"This is gonna hurt... a lot."**

** And that blasted knife- it was coming closer.**

** Struggled against everyone holding me down, struggled as my shirt sleeve was rolled up. I managed to free my one foot and I think I nailed some one in the chest.**

** "Hey, keep her still, will you?! I get hit again and she won't be the only one getting the blade!"**

** Everything was foggy; everything was dark, pitch black, except for one tiny sliver of shining white.**

** A fist slammed into my jaw. Far away, I heard someone moaning in pain. Hearing that made the jarring pain in my head worse. **

** "Shut up and stay still or this'll go through..." the rest became an echoing blur of sound, indecipherable. I tried to open my eyes, but everything looked the same, open or closed.**

** Black.**

** Black.**

** Grating, harsh, cold black...**

** And I was surprised that I could even feel the pain; pain roared in my ears and felt like lightning. My screams stopped, dying in my dried-out throat as all heck broke lose...**

** "How's it feel, Skigh... **Skigh... SKIGH!"

"STOP!" I fell to the floor, wincing as I tried to stand. The scars burned like fire. Again.

"Skigh, are you okay? What- what happened?"

The room started spinning, white lights and black darkness blending. I knew the voice, but it was so distant that the familiar voice ringing in my ears was foreign.

And then I fell; for no good reason my legs gave out and I banged my head off the floor.

"SKIGH!"

**"You thought life was miserable before? Think again."**

** "We rule around here, Skigh. Face it."**

** More pain. Like that was even remotely possible-**

"SKIGH, WAKE UP!"

I tried opening my eyes. No darkness this time. Instead... McKian.

McKian had somehow gotten me back on my bed; he kept running his hand through my hair. "Hey, what happened?"

I closed my eyes, then quickly opened them after the darkness settled in. "Flashback," I whispered. "It was nothing."

"Oh, yeah. Finding you laying on the floor in your room screaming is nothing," McKian muttered.

I sat up on the edge of the bed next to him. "Sorry. I'm just a little on edge."

"It's fine. You gonna be okay for today?"

Frowned. "What's today?"

McKian laughed; actually, it was more like a sarcastic chuckle. "Election day!"

"Oh, shoot! I can't believe that's today!" I had my head in my hands. "Good God!"

...

"Okay, so today is Election Day, and the polls are starting to open. So, if you do decide to get off the couch and vote, then who are you voting for?" I grinned at McKian. "I'm one year short of the mark, but that doesn't mean I can't influence you a little."

McKian rolled his eyes and picked up the segment. "Yeah, so apparently several states have reported different voting machines on the fritz. Several are already programmed to vote for Spender." He tapped the touch screen and pulled up the slideshow. "But overwhelmingly, the public's support is for Rose, so it looks like Spender's a one term president."

"Well, I guess that tomorrow the awakening begins. You remember Beck?"

A smile crept over McKian's face as he fiddled with his mic and nodded. "Glenn Beck, Fox News, I remember him." That seemed a little weird. Did he know another guy named Beck? Maybe a program?

"He said that America needs to be woken up peacefully. Let me add on to that-" my turn to tap the screen "- the whole world needs an awakening, an uprising, I guess."

A few people on set snickered.

McKian poked my arm. I looked over and laughed. He had the three middle fingers of his left hand extended and the index finger of his right hand positioned below the other three; it resembled the "T" part of the REVOLUTION logo, and the insignia on Tron's suit. He mouthed, "Tron."

"Tron," I mouthed back.

He smiled and slid his finger over the screen. "Yeesh, this thing is cold! Probably not as cold as Spender's rock-hard heart."

More snickers from off-set. Matt shot us a thumbs-up from behind camera three.

"Are you kidding?! This thing has more of a heart than he does!"

A lot more laughter from everyone.

I spun my new swivel chair around and put my feet up on the desk. (We ditched the couch idea for today. And besides, swivel chairs are fun!) "Actually, maybe it has more brains than him."

This was the only way work was supposed to be, entertaining, enlightening and encouraging. We were starting an uprising, just like the one on the Grid. Except I was watching the Grid's battles on a computer screen and we weren't battling a program named Tesler whose arm could transform into a cannon. (I'd seen every battle so far and McKian and I just about laughed our heads off when The Renegade blew up CLU's statue. It was beautiful.)

"And," I added onto my previous statement, "maybe if we're 'rebels' for the cause'- thanks, NPR- then, I guess we could be considered-"

"Renegades?" McKian finished.

I did a rimshot off the desk. "Yep. We're the Renegades of the air waves."

A pretty decent November day spent at work. Of course, I realized, that the critics would be wondering why McKian signaled like that.

But who really cares? The staff was applauding and Nathan Rose winning the presidential election was inevitable.

More than a pretty decent day. It was a good day.

...

6:01 PM. We were off the air until tomorrow, and then the hectic scheduling would return to the normal two hour slot.

And so far Hunter hadn't showed her face today.

McKian tapped my shoulder as we pulled off the headsets. "She's here. Help me!"

Speaking of the devil...

Okay, I am fine with color, but this lady wore overkill. Try all lime green; she looked like a walking, talking lime. "Just shut her down. You got this."

"Yeah right."

"The new guy's back," she said with a smile smothered in lip gloss. This lime needed a "mute" button.

McKian looked away, not responding as he once again tugged on his jacket sleeves.

"Oh, come on. Say something," Hunter approached him again.

De ja vu set in as McKian, once again sitting on the desk, scooted back. "No."

Hunter giggled and leaned on the edge of the desk, inches from McKian's face as she whispered, "That'll do. So, you still single?"

Not taking the hint (thankfully), McKian backed up more, right into the touch screen board. "Uh, yeah. I guess I am."

The two were only inches apart; and I was ready to puke. On Hunter.

Matt tapped me on the shoulder. "What's up?"

"The Hunter is closing in on her prey," I hissed, watching as she tried getting closer.

"Uh, shouldn't you help him?"

I smirked. "McKian can handle himself. Watch."

Hunter had grabbed his arm while we were talking and was rolling up his coat sleeve. She stared at the tattoos and marks on him, her eyes wide. "Where'd you get these tattoos? And why hide them? I like them."

"I don't." McKian pushed past her and leapt over the desk, landing with a solid backflip.

"But you have them," Hunter retorted. She followed him around the desk.

Matt sighed. "Why does he have those tattoos anyway?"

"Trust me, it's a long story." My eyes were glued to McKian as he fixed his coat for the millionth time. "A really long story."

"Can you shorten it a little?" Matt asked as Hunter got within a foot of McKian again.

I shook my head. "Let's just say they weren't voluntary and leave it at that."

"You're telling me later."

Hunter grabbed his left hand and tried to pull him closer. Matt and I both snickered as McKian yanked his hand away; I noticed that he had his hand plastered over the watch. "What's your problem?" Hunter spat. "What're you hiding this time?"

"Just leave me alone." McKian flipped himself over another table and landed on the other side.

"Hard to get?" Hunter chased him again. "I like it. I like YOU."

"Lord help us," Matt mumbled. I laughed and poked him; the encounter was still going on.

McKian jumped backwards. "Uh, the feeling isn't mutual."

Hunter stumbled back.

"And suddenly the predator becomes the prey," I sneered. Matt grinned as Hunter stormed off quickly. Well, about as quickly as you can in a super-tight skirt and huge high heels.

McKian walked over, rubbing his right arm. "I can't take her anymore! She's gonna drive me crazy!"

"I thought you already were crazy," I said.

We all laughed. That's what the three of us did; we acted like total goofballs. But it was fun. Matt slapped McKian on the back; apparently he hit a sensitive spot because McKian cringed. "Hey, Mac, nice one! It... is okay if I call you Mac, right?"

McKian nodded. "Sure. I kinda like it."

"So I can call you that, too?"

More laughing. "Yeah."

"Hey, Mac," Matt was asking questions. Shoot. "How'd you get those tattoos anyway? "

"Uh, I didn't choose to have them." McKian sighed. "If I could get rid of them, I would."

I grimaced as Matt replied with, "But you can get tattoos removed."

"Not these ones," I cut in. "We gotta go... some appointment in...some town... somewhere. Bye, Matt!" I yanked Mac along behind me and we bolted.

* * *

"Check it."

McKian rubbed his eyes and yawned. "What am I looking at?"

"Well, if you opened your eyes, you'd see that it's an email," I said, tapping the screen of my computer and clicking the link. "Rose won."

"That's nice," Mac mumbled as he fell onto the couch. "Now let me sleep. I'm tired." He rolled off the couch and landed on a heap on the floor. "Ow."

I knelt beside him and grabbed his arm; Mac's skin was freezing. The dark tattoos on his arms seemed a shade or two lighter, and he was white. "Mac, you okay?"

"Why is it so hot in here?" he rolled onto his side and feebly threw off his shirt. "What's happening?"

"I don't know." I pressed my shaking hand on his forehead. He felt like an ice cube.

And the watch was flashing again. I gently turned his arm and stared at the display:

SYSTEM DIAGNOSTIC: (that did NOT sound good) ENERGY LEVEL: Stable. (Good) CODE BALANCE: Stable (Okay, whatever that means) COMPATIBILITY TO NEW SYSTEM: 93.7 % Compatible. (That seemed fine) SYSTEM RE-CALIBRATION IN PROGRESS- SYNCING TO SKIGH786 PROGRAM STRUCTURE.

I glanced up at the computer. My email account had been placed in a side bar menu as the rest of the screen showed a body outline of Mac; different codes appeared and disappeared in groups of blue data-streams. The outline faded into the mess of code as what appeared to be McKian's programming (his was lit up green) merged with my computer's mainframe (white). And then suddenly his skin felt like it had burst into flames; then it returned to normal.

"What was that?" Mac pushed himself up from the floor and sat up.

"My computer was finalizing your code, or something like that," I pulled him up; he swayed for a second, then regained his balance.

He sighed and looked at the dark marks decorating his body. "Hunter's right."

I frowned. "About what?"

"About these," he muttered, rubbing his hands over the marks. "I can't hide them forever. And everyone seems to think they're something else aside from what they really are."

He was right; the media would find out sooner or later. Sooner sounded better.

"Good point," I admitted. "So today we'll just-"

"I'm sorry. Was I interrupting something?"

Alan.

We both whirled towards the voice. Alan stood near the elevator door, leaning on the wall; he had his arms crossed and decided to put on a cocky smirk. "Hello again."

At this point, I could guess what would have been going through my brother's mind if he were here... A guy he'd only met days ago was standing in my living room, his shirt lying discarded on the floor. And he was covered in what to everyone else would be tattoos-

We were lucky it was only Alan.

The only thing we really had going for us was the fact that we were dressed for work, well mostly that is- Mac's shirt was gone. Alan stepped forward and climbed up the stairs. He picked up Mac's shirt and threw it at him. "Missing something?"

I rolled my eyes and grinned. "And you're here why?"

"The Times did it again," Alan reached into the pocket inside his overcoat and pulled out a copy of the paper. "Look at this."

McKian slipped his shirt over his head and stared at the paper. "Renegade of the Air Waves Gets New Partner in Crime," he whispered. "Didn't you say that?"

"We both did, I think," I looked to Alan. "You read the article?"

Alan nodded. "You should look it over though."

I flipped through the paper and found the story. "Out of context again. Great..." The headline was cool.

The story?

The story was just flat out bogus. I don't feel like wasting my time dragging it out of the darkest corner of my memory. And at the moment, I had more important stuff on my mind.

...

"So, Nathan Rose has won the presidential election," I said, grabbing a piece of paper off my desk; it was a piece of the Education Bill from Spender's agenda. Crumbling it into a wad, I aimed at the garbage can by my art desk on set and threw. Bounced off the wall and fell in. "And now the Education Bill is null and void."

McKian smiled and reached for a paper. He copied everything I did and then took aim. "I can't aim with this thing on," he muttered and set the paper down.

And then he pulled off his coat and threw it on the desk. "That's better." Mac aimed once more and threw. His went in, too.

I heard a few gasps come through the outer shell of the headset, but overall, the majority of the staff was clapping. "Nice shot," I praised him and we both destroyed paper after paper of the bill. "And folks, don't worry about us tearing the bill to shreds. We've got another one in the archives. Well, at least I think we do."

...

"Okay, so here's the Renegade's code." Mac and I were back home, standing by the computer screen as the Renegade's code flashed on one side; pointing to the opposite side of the screen, I added, "And here's Tron's." Not exactly the way to celebrate the perfect candidate getting elected, but we figured getting smothered at the REVOLUTION celebration party for fifteen minutes was more than enough.

Mac crossed his arms stroked his chin thoughtfully. "They-" He stopped and took a deep breath, "They aren't the same."

I now had a habit of frequently glancing at his left wrist; he had it switched to talent mode again. "This part here looks the same," I pointed out as I rubbed my fingertips along the cool surface. The same segments of code lit up.

He reached up and tapped both segments. "So according to this, the Renegade isn't Tron. But it looks like in order to have that same section of coding, the Renegade would need-"

"Half of Tron's disc," we both finished.

I never saw Mac so at ease; for a few minutes, he just worked with the codes like it was nothing. Then again, he had the blasted watch switched on, so of course he'd be at ease-

And then he jumped back as the computer system sounded a weird, demented alarm. The two sets of code faded into the side dock as a video started streaming. The display showed Argon Square (now that I know what it is) and... a ton of awesome graffiti. Or at least it looked like graffiti.

"Impressive vandalism," McKian said softly. He gaped in awe at all the colors. So many different patterns; it looked amazing, even if it was vandalism.

But the only thing that made the vandalism better was what it said. Two simple words.

"Tron lives," I heard one of us say. Thinking back on it, I can't remember which one of us it was.

Mac grinned and started messing with the incoming video, pulling up different view screens. "Looks like this one wasn't Tron."

I stepped closer to the screen as he lifted his one hand and revealed several blurry still-shots of three programs running through the streets. "Why do they all have Joker smiles?" I wondered; then I realized I'd said it aloud- Mac was staring at me like i was from Mars. "Creepy villain guy from Batman... we can look it up later."

Two guys, one girl. McKian was gazing at the screen, and it looked like he was debating saying whether or not he knew who they were. He finally opened his mouth and blurted, "I know her."

"You do? You know who the girl with the freaky shark-grin is?"

He nodded and tapped the screen on his watch. The normally blue display burned out for a second, then ignited once more with bright green. Mac placed his left hand on the screen and a faint green glow circled his hand. His smile grew wider (as I think my eyes did as well) as the program in the middle's circuits changed from pure white to pale blue and yellow. Pressing his hand down harder, I gasped as her mask vanished, followed by the helmet. "Mara." Blue hair, blue eyes, looked nice. Could I replace Hunter with her?

"Who?"

Mac pulled away his hand and reached up with the other to zoom in more on the picture. "Mara. I saw her in Argon Park, when Tesler made some huge address. Two of her friends were there, too. One of them looked pretty ticked."

"Can you pull him up on here?"

McKian tried applying pressure on the screen again, but there was no glow this time. He shook his head. "No, sorry. I-I drained everything on the last one just to get her helmet off."

"So manipulating the Grid's feeds and modifying codes or images makes you weaker?"

Mac shook and lifted his hands; the watch screen returned to blue, then faded out completely. Then he mumbled (kinda incoherently), "I-I think s-so. I never t-tried it before."

Okay, either he was gonna pass out, or he was gonna pass out and crumble into a million little pieces. The visible tattoos were turning lighter again. "Mac, I think you should lie down before you fall down. Come on." I grabbed his arm and helped him down the stairs.

"I'm sorry," he kept repeating, the two words slurred.

Triggered the automatic door. "Hey, why are you sorry for anything? Figuring out who the Renegade is can wait."

McKian fell onto his bed, groaning as he spread out on his unmade bed. He was out cold in a second.

I gently pulled a blanket out from under him and spread it over him. This was a learning experience for both of us... a weird learning experience at that.


	9. Chapter 8

(Skigh's POV)

Thanksgiving was probably the craziest encounter with my brother yet.

And why was that? Well, I decided to drag Mac into everything.

Again.

...

My brother and I lived on a lake; he used to live in the mountain home until he got married. Now he lives just across the lake, and that's where Thanksgiving dinner was. So as our sneakers left tracks in the dismal snow, I could tell that doubt was setting into McKian; the bright green color of his eyes looked faded and distant as he looked to me with pleading eyes. "I don't know if can pull this off. What if I mess up?" The overwhelming feeling of hesitation blended with doubt was starting to get to him. "Maybe I should just run back, go back into the Grid-"

"No," I made my voice sound as encouraging as possible, hoping I sounded more confident than I felt. "My brother just doesn't know you yet. Someday he'll snap out of it and stand down."

Mac stuck his gloved hands in his pockets. "I know you said I've learned a lot lately-" we stepped from the muddy yard to the harsh concrete walk "-but I don't..." he froze and looked down. "Can you tell me about Thanksgiving again? Like why it's called that? I can't keep anything straight anymore."

"Well, today is when people give thanks for what they have," I started and shoved my freezing hands into my coat pockets. "People can be thankful any day, but today we celebrate all we have, all that we're blessed with."

His eyes began to return to their natural, glowing green. "Who do you thank? Do you have a creator like Flynn?"

"Uh, yeah."

McKian smiled. "Can you see him and talk to him?"

I bit my lip and tried to formulate something to satisfy him. "Well, no one can see Him, but he lived a long time ago-"

"So he derezz-" Mac corrected himself "-died? Where is he?"

"He's not dead. He's alive, but-"

"Quit standing out there freezing! For the love of God, get in here!"

Thanks, Griffyn. (Mac found out what I meant later that night; he found my Bible and copied the whole thing into his watch and memory banks.)

...

"Hello, Skigh."

I grinned. "Hey, Alex."

My brother hugged me and tried pulling off my coat. "Happy Thanksgiving," he said joyfully. And then I felt his hot breath down my neck as he hissed, "And you brought him."

"Cool it," I returned; Mac was taking off his coat and talking with Griffyn. But his gaze was on us more-so, not my sister-in-law.

Alex's angry voice echoed in my ears as he snapped, "How is he family? This is family only! He can't-"

"Hi, McKian."

Never in my life had I been so happy to see my boss as he slapped Mac on the back and shook his hand. Alex's scowl met my smirk. "Fine, he stays."

...

"Amen."

The huge round table in my brother's dining room felt uncomfortably small. McKian, thankfully, didn't have any dislikes as far as food went; in fact, he'd even tried to eat soap a while ago, and he thought it was candy. And he was doing just fine with using the silverware.

So far, so good...

McKian smiled at me, and I returned the smile. Both of us had on the same biker gloves (we always wore those), but Mac had on a grey polo and I had on a red long sleeve with a black short sleeve over it. I always wore long sleeve shirts; Mac wasn't the only one with secrets around here.

"McKian," my brother looked up from spooning more mashed potatoes onto his plate and asked, "where'd you get those tattoos?"

Mac poked at a piece of corn and answered with, "I don't really remember." My brother wouldn't accept that answer. Great...

Griffyn shrugged and mouthed, "Sorry." I shook my head. Alex just had a habit of being overly cautious of new faces, and even Griffyn couldn't change that.

Ian decided to break the silence that followed with, "McKian, you are amazing on air! Skigh, how did you find him?"

This question we could answer. Not telling the whole truth, but some of it. A very little bit of it. "He kinda found me, actually."

"Well, however it happened, you-" Ian pointed at Mac and swallowed his mouthful of turkey "-YOU are great! Are we paying you?"

"I, uh, I don't think so."

Ian frowned. "Did you sign the contract?"

"I don't think so," Mac repeated as he picked up his glass of water and took a long sip.

"Well, I'm entering you in anyway. No need to sign anything. I'll just modify a few archives and codes and you're in." Ian's wide grin grew wider.

I saw the blood flow to Mac's cheeks; his pale skin looked a little more human as he blushed and mumbled, "You don't have to do that, Mr. Christopher. I-"

Ian thumped his large fist on the table. "Don't say word one, kid. I owe you this, and I am a man who doesn't take no for an answer. There's something about you that can add so much to our company, something that we need. I don't know what it is, but I want you on board."

Mac glanced at me, his knuckles turning snow white as he squeezed the arms of his chair under the table. He slightly nodded towards Alex, who just happened to be glaring again.

"Yeah, if only you knew..." I muttered, shoving some green bean casserole into my mouth before I said anything I'd regret later to my brother.

Dinner continued, and after Mac insisted on helping Griffyn with the dishes, it was time for the annual arm-wrestling contest between Ian and Alex. Oh, joy. Nothing screams Thanksgiving like two guys slamming each other's fists into the living room's antique coffee table.

So, as the two knelt on either side of the table and rolled up their sleeves, Mac, Griffyn and I stood off to the side. Far off to the side. Mac leaned in close and whispered, "If this is how people fight in this world, without derezzing each other, then I like it."

"There are still wars and revolutions going on, violent ones where people get killed," I reminded him.

"But you said that when you're on TV you're fighting a war of your own. You don't use guns on air." He frowned as Alex stood and started stretching. "Does he really have to prepare like that?"

I smirked and tried not to laugh. "The fight we're in is one over beliefs, sort of like the Grid, but without killing others. In America, we're lucky that we can say the stuff we do on air without getting tortured or killed."

"Yeah, sorry I said anything," McKian sighed sadly.

I punched him in the arm. "Why be sorry? You asked a question and I answered. Besides, I believe in using guns- for self-defense."

"One more question."

This one was gonna be good. "Shoot."

"Does Alex have to do that?"

I shook my head. "I honestly have no idea."

Ian and Alex both knelt down again and positioned themselves. "Okay, the grip's gonna crush my hand," Ian gasped as Alex grabbed his hand. "Wait till we start."

One corner of Alex's mouth rose up and formed his competitive smirk. "Start!"

McKian observed the whole battle, the two of them gaining and then losing ground repeatedly. Both grunted as they pushed harder and harder. When one almost had the other down, the odds went in the other's favor and it was vice versa. Finally, Alex pressed Ian's hand into the table top and laughed. "I win."

"Yeah, same as last year," Ian groaned as he stood and walked over to the coffee-colored couch; he fell into the middle section and started massaging his hand. "McKian, you should try him."

Mac shook his head. "No, I'm good."

"Ah, come on." Alex stretched again and then got on his knees by the table. "One time. Unless you're too scared." Alex had four modes: competitive mode, interrogation mode, business mode and normal mode. And he was rarely ever in normal mode.

Apparently that last phrase triggered something in McKian's mind. He knelt on the other side of the table and tapped his watch... the blue glow leaving the screen.

He was doing this blind. No talent mode. No guaranteed win.

Griffyn nudged me and looked me in the eye as she nervously inquired, "Does he know what he's doing, going up against Alex?"

"Dear Lord, I hope so," was my reply.

The two locked hands, and then they locked eyes. Alex's grey ones to Mac's green ones. "Good luck, kid," Alex muttered.

"Thanks, but I don't think I'll need it."

Unnerved, Alex shrugged and counted down from three. "GO!"

Pressing with all his might, sweat pouring down his face, the blood flowing faster... Alex wasn't budging Mac's hand at all. His heavy breathing slurred together, "Wow, you are really strong."

Mac didn't answer; I could tell he just wanted to get this done and over with. He looked at me, and I could tell he was wondering what to do with my brother. I just nodded and watched. His color was normal and he wasn't even trying as he flipped Alex's hand right down to the table top and stood. "Wanna try again?"

Alex fell back on the floor and tried to catch his breath. "N-no... I'm go-good..."

So much for being intimidating, dear brother of mine.

...

"Are you sure about this? About doing this? I mean- it doesn't feel-"

I laid a hand on Mac's quaking shoulder. "Relax. It's a security measure of ours."

"Hacking into programs' discs is a security measure?!" McKian rolled his eyes. "Wow."

"Calm down," I muttered, flipping through more files in Paige's memory. Surprisingly, the tryptophan in the turkey hadn't kicked in just yet, so until we dropped to the floor, we were back at home, searching the Grid for clues again. "So this far, Tron's blown a statue of lunatic CLU sky-high."

"And he's broke a guy out of the Coliseum."

I nodded and continued sifting through the mess of data. "He blew up a drill that would've destroyed Argon..." I almost laughed as I added, "and he got blamed for building it."

"He stole a data cube from Tesler's ship, and then they stole it back," Mac shook his head.

"Tron even took a super weapon and used it so the Occupation couldn't-" I stopped and wondered out loud, "Hey, was that thing really destroyed?"

Mac shrugged and flipped on his watch; he took control of the screen. "Don't forget that he interrupted a public execution in the roadster that was offered for his capture."

"And he fought Tesler in Argon Square, he sabotaged some of Tesler's tanks and he almost had three recruits who were amazing graffiti artists. That's all for now, I think."

The computer flashed orange and started beeping. "This thing seriously needs a volume control," Mac hissed as he accessed one memory in particular. "This looks interesting."

"What?"

He ran his long fingers down the screen over the streaming memory, his fingertips faintly glowing again. "According to this, Paige met some ISOs. And it looks like... she liked them, until she found out they were ISOs."

"Sounds a little weird for someone with the Occupation," I mumbled. "Did she turn them in eventually?"

"No. Looks like she used to be a medic and..." his hands left the screen as a picture of her and two other medics, a guy and a girl, appeared. "The other two here turned them in."

This wasn't adding up right. If they turned them in, then they'd be with the Occupation, too; and if Paige didn't turn them in, then- "Wait, take that clip back."

A video from her disc was streaming up in the right hand corner of the screen. McKian tapped it twice and it became full screen. "Tesler."

We watched as a hallway appeared, covered in the remains of derezzed programs. "Oh my word," I gasped as we saw more and more blue splattered over the walls and floor. It seemed so dark and horrible-

**"Good luck making it out of here alive-"**

NOT NOW.

"You were obviously tricked into helping the wrong side in this conflict," Tesler's grating voice echoed. I cringed and wished HE had a volume control as he kept talking. "Now that you understand that, I want to give you a chance to join the right side," he continued, addressing Paige, "and make the ISOs pay for what they've done- under my command."

**"You really think she cares about you? That any of us care about you?! How dumb can you be, you-"**

NOT NOW. LEAVE ME ALONE! (Good God! I'd had these flashbacks under control until now... what happened?)

We watched as Paige picked up a picture lying on the floor, the same one that McKian had pulled up moments ago. "How soon can I start?" I cringed as Paige said that. Ugh...

"Pause it," I said, making sure we had Tesler in the shot. "Everyone loves a cold-hearted, killing liar. Let's see what he remembers about this."

Mac accessed his codes and sighed. "Looks pretty bad." He pulled up another video, and it showed that Paige's friends were derezzed- a command of Tesler (no surprise there)- for turning in the ISOs.

"So Tesler and his troops wiped out the medical center, not the ISOs." I couldn't believe it, and yet I could; it seemed so stupid. "And Paige bought his load of lies, too."

McKian pulled up the video we'd seen a while ago of her battling Tron on a disintegrating island. She'd asked the Renegade, "You think I'm that gullible?" Now, I wondered if that was just a stupid trick question. "She's naïve. Great."

I tapped the screen and it faded back to a shot of her playing her instrument-thingy, whatever it was called. "On the bright side, she's an excellent musician," I said.

Mac yawned and stretched. "Now I'm tired. I think her playing is making me sleepy."

Yay... stupid tryptophan...

* * *

"So our good buddy Beck decided to take on bacon and eggs last night."

Mac flopped down on the sofa on set and frowned. "Uh, why?" He spread out on the couch; his head lay on one arm and his feet on the other. Mac adjusted the headset and looked up to where I stood on the stage. "Was he hungry?"

"No, but he did eat the food on set," I replied, dragging my fingers over the touch screen and rolled my eyes.

(Yeah, uh, probably a conversation that no one really expected to hear. But the show started out with Mac stepping out of his comfort zone and saying- boldly saying- this: "Sometimes I wish people would shut up about perfection. The idea of perfection any more is filled with conforming and propaganda. There is only one kind of perfection, and the one the world knows isn't it. Our kind of perfection is a stupid lie. Enough said.")

"Why are you laying down? On the couch?"

McKian closed his eyes and laced his hands behind his head. "I'm tired. So much Christmas shopping."

"We only went to Best Buy for twenty minutes." (Actually, after going to Best Buy, Mac decided to drop in and visit the Grid. Apparently they were still getting rid of the "vandalism" done to Tesler's ship.)

I caught Matt laughing off set, his headphones covering his ears and his smile covering his face. That guy was awesome. Maybe I could give him a pay raise for Christmas? Or a promotion... but how would you wrap that?

"Anyway, Glenn was saying how you can use propaganda to manipulate. And if you are someone who wants to use propaganda, but not use the nasty word "propaganda", then you use this:" I flipped the screen and grabbed a purple marker. "Public Relations." The marker squeaked as it raced over the board, forming the two words.

Mac looked up over the couch. "So that can be propaganda, huh?"

"Yep." Dropped the marker back into the marker bin. "He covered breakfast, cigarettes, pianos and 'public relations.'" I tipped the board and let it spin onto the other side, then kept going. "He was proving this point: the truth has no agenda."

I walked over to the couch and sat on the back; I nudged McKian and grinned. "Wake up, sleepy. Do you need a hearty breakfast of bacon and eggs? Oh wait! That's not heart-healthy anymore!"

"I'm not hungry, especially not for something that was supposed to be 'scientifically' proven a good thing." Mac pushed himself up and sighed. "So you're telling me that a breakfast that people have just assumed is good for them- it really isn't?"

I nodded. "Like Beck said: 'the truth has no agenda.' That's what he wanted people to take away from his show last night, and," I looked up at the glaring lens on camera four and tacked on, "we have that episode on the REVOLUTION website. Last week we got permission to add Glenn Beck into our channel's queue, so if you missed it, we'll be playing it... in the next two weeks. That's all for today. We'll be back tomorrow, December second- same time, same place. See ya."

"CLEAR!"

McKian pushed himself up from the couch. "The truth has no agenda... and the guy I took on in Argon Park last night has endless strength."

"So that's why you're half asleep." I pulled him up grinned. "He beat you?"

Mac shook his head. "I won. Man, Beck was good."

"Who?"

"Beck, the program I fought. He was amazing, really good," Mac's voice transformed into a yawn. "Tomorrow's Saturday, right?"

I nodded. "Yeah. We won't be here. And, uh, does this Beck guy look like Glenn?"

"Not really. Beck has darker, spiky hair and brown eyes. He's really nice."

I rolled my eyes and punched his shoulder. "Well, don't start getting any ideas about asking HIM out."

"Shut up." Mac grinned. "Guys go with girls, and girls go with guys. There." He stuck his hands in his pockets and looked down. "There's something about him."

"What? A great personality?"

Mac's eyes turned into slot machines as he said, "Oh, yeah, sure." Perfected sarcasm. "No, he's got something, something off about him. It's like he's hiding something."

We stepped into the elevator; I pressed a couple buttons (this thing had a lot of security measures, ever since the attempt on Ian's life) and slowly grinned. A possible lead? (Not to sound like Tesler, who was bent on derezzing the Renegade.) "Maybe he is."

"What? Sorry, I'm half out of it." McKian ran his hand through his hair and yawned again... and again.

I pressed another button and the elevator started descending. "Nothing."

...

We got home, Mac passed out on the couch and I started searching for a needle in a haystack.

And this needle had a name. BECK.

"No, no, DEFINITELY NOT BECK," I muttered. I'd never seen the guy before, and I could tell that this guy wasn't him. "This is stinking impossible. There's no way I'll-" I stopped.

DESIGNATION: Bodhi. STATUS: Derezzed.

"Not Beck, but I might as well look." I tapped his file. Beck's name came up. I tapped the file again and started copying what Mac and I'd done with Paige's codes. Accessed his memory and-

I smiled. Not at all what I'd expected, but pretty cool just the same. Mac was right. Beck was hiding something, a very BIG something at that. "Beck, you've got a lot of explaining to do."

* * *

I want chocolate...

(Goldden eyes, thanks for the reviews! You're awesome!)

:)


	10. Chapter 9

(Skigh's POV)

"So... he's TRON?"

I nodded. "Well, yeah. Not the Tron Alan created, but Tron."

"Wait, Alan created Tron?"

Nodded again. "Yep. That's kinda why they look a lot alike."

Mac rubbed his temples. "I fought the Renegade... and won?"

I thought my head would fall off from nodding so much. "It's a rare honor," I said, somewhat mockingly.

"Beck was the only guy who'd go against me last night..." McKian laughed. "I can't believe that you found this out WHILE I WAS ASLEEP! Now I feel bad that I know!"

We both burst out laughing; neither of us knew why, but we did. And, for once in a looong while, there wasn't a single flashback attacking my mind, no phone calls from Dimwit (he hadn't called in a while), no tension- just us, and every single secret we both held in our hearts... assuming McKian had working organs and veins under his skin.

"So," Mac asked when he was able to breathe again, "does that mean that he's training under Tron?"

Nodded AGAIN. (Boy, was this getting old!) "Yeah. I'm still stunned that you battled the hero of your world and won!"

"You didn't expect me to win?" Mac joked, crossing his arms and smirking. He was really getting the hang of being human.

I rolled my eyes. "You know what I mean. You're excellent! I found the memory file with you two at Argon Park."

"He's good with a disc. The only reason I won was because I drop-kicked him," Mac mumbled.

"Stop being stinking modest," I said, patting his shoulder. "You're doing great here. You're-" I stopped nervously.

Footsteps.

Mac whirled around, following my nervous gaze; a shadow was moving back and forth in the elevator, right behind the doors. "What is that?"

I pressed my finger to my lips and snuck down the stairs. The open doors snapped shut and the elevator descended. "Shoot! Get to the stairs!"

"Where are they?"

I took off, ignoring him as I slammed my fist into the door off the kitchen. Part of the wall disappeared as stairs appeared. I heard footsteps behind me.

Mac!

We wound up in the pitch black garage. Felt the wall for the light switch and battled to keep the flashbacks at bay. The lights flickered on.

Mac grabbed my arm and pointed past the three cars (thank you, Alex) to the same moving shadow from before. "Okay, let's just end this!" I hissed, feeling the cold floor through my socks. How did someone get past the security system? How'd they get HERE in the first place?! And if they'd heard our conversation, any of it-

We would be so stinking dead.

"I got it." McKian flew past me, footsteps echoing loudly. He leapt over the first car, the second, the third. I saw his fist go up as I followed, not jumping over the cars, though.

And then he uncurled his fist, lowering his hand to his side. "Seriously? First Alan and now you?"

I stepped around the car and looked down at the person leaning against my black Lamborghini. He wasn't... he couldn't be- "Matt?"

Matt, hood over his head, completely soaked, looked up slowly. "Hey, guys."

...

"Matt, uh, how'd you get here?" I needed to know how the security failed to acknowledge him getting in my house.

Matt pulled off his coat, the water pouring out of it and creating a lake on the floor. "My car broke down. Started walking- hey, did you know it's snowing like crazy outside?" He sighed and pulled off his soaking wet baseball cap. "I found some weird orange road and-"

"You wound up here," I finished; the road leading to my house had orange guide lights... yeah, so much for living out in the middle of nowhere. "Where's your car?"

"About a half mile from your road." Matt cringed. "If I'm not supposed to be here, I'm sorry. I can go back-"

McKian shook his head. "No, that's not the issue." He crossed his arms; the black tattoos looked a little darker as he asked, "How much did you hear?" His voice wasn't the normal, innocent McKian I was used to. It sounded pretty deep and gruff, along the lines of Alan or Tron.

Matt hung his head and started trying to work his way out of his gloves. "Most of it, I guess."

"The Renegade?" Mac's eyes glowed. He wasn't so much angry. I think we were both a little paranoid about his secret getting out. "You hear about him?"

"Yeah." Matt didn't sound the same either. He sounded scared, like he did whenever Ian showed his face on set.

Mac exchanged a very panicked glance with me. "And about Argon, too?"

"That too." He threw off his gloves (adding to the sopping wet pile of his clothes and said, "I'm sorry. I honestly- I swear to God- that it wasn't on purpose. I..." Now he looked like he was gonna fall over, his dark skin slowly getting lighter. "I'm sorry."

McKian sighed. "So, how much do you know? How much made sense?"

"All I c-could catch was something about Tron, and a Renegade a-and some dude named Beck... and-" he looked up, more confident, but shivering and thawing out. "You're not from Pennsylvania, are you?"

"No. I," Mac swallowed and glanced at me again. I nodded. (I'd always trusted Matt; he'd never given me reason not to.) Mac started again. "I'm really from..."

* * *

And so Matt found out... EVERYTHING. Well, everything except who the Renegade was.

He'd sworn about ten million times that he'd never tell anyone. And he also said about twenty million times that he was sorry.

His tech talent was being hidden in his current position, and tonight Mac and I both decided he'd earned his a shot at a promotion from Ian. (Yeah, I think when we left the room to get him a cup of coffee and a blanket, he was thinking we were gonna knock him off or something. He even looked at his coffee like it was poisoned... until he started gulping it down.)

And as far as breaking down the Grid, Mac did well. And Matt was amazed at the world that Mac had come from... and his past kinda caught his attention, too.

If the father from the local church had walked in (I'm not Catholic; I'm a Jesus Freak), he would've probably been overwhelmed by all the confessions going on.

Matt was an underestimated tech genius, Mac was a misfit and I was a teenager who had enough luck on my side to get me this far. Some trio, huh?

And, thankfully, the Dimwit had stopped harassing me over the phone; maybe he disappeared. That would've been wonderful.

That being said, December third flew by, along with the fourth, the fifth the sixth-

and then we wound up at the thirteenth.

...

** "WAKE UP, NUTCASE!"**

** "Ah, come on now, don't be nice! She's-"**

** "WAKE UP! WAKE UP! WAKE UP! WWAAKKEE UUUPPPP-"**

Pressure on my arm, lot of stupid pressure on my BAD arm. "Hey, wake up!"

"GO AWAY!" I opened my eyes, feeling the cold sweat roll down my face. Still couldn't see clearly.

And the blasted voices...

**"Maybe she's dead!"**

** Echo-y, far away laughter. "Hey, would that be such a bad thing?"**

"You okay?" The voice sounded familiar, but it blended with the others, making it unrecognizable.

**"Yeah, no one to beat up! Where would our fun go?"**

** More stinking laughter. "Yeah, we'll end up bein' the ones puttin' her six feet under!"**

** "We could test our knife a little more-"**

"SKIGH!"

And NOW I could recognize the voice!

I rubbed my eyes, trying to figure out why he was-

oh, yeah, stupid! He knows?! You, uh, you told him about, you know, the secret digital world inside your computer that's being controlled by a corrupt maniac?!

"Hey, Matt." My throat hurt. Had I been screaming again? "Why are you-"

Matt crossed his arms. "Okay, so Mac's still in that computer world?"

I sat up, finally realizing that I was in my room. And then that MATT was in my room.

Thankfully, no big brother Alex watching me. That would've been really awkward to explain.

"Hello? Earth to Skigh?" Matt snapped his fingers and sighed. "You okay?"

"Yeah," I forced the one word lie out; it felt like my legs turned into Jello. "So no McKian?"

Matt shook his head. "He can't go invisible, right?"

"Not yet." I rubbed my hand over the upper part of my left arm and froze. No sleeve. I was wearing a tank top, meaning that-

"What happened to your arm?"

I bit my lip as the shot was fired. Matt frowned and cocked his head. "And what happened to your hands?"

Looked down. No gloves on either.

SHOOT!

Matt's dark eyes went wide. "What…" He stopped. "I'm sorry. Not my business."

"No, it's fine." I looked at the scar on my left arm, the REVOLUTION logo with three huge slashes through it. Then the deep groves on my hands. "Let's just say Mac's not the only one with a ton of secrets..." Good God, this was hard. My voice cracked as I managed to get out, "I almost died there. Fourteen years of a living-"

"Heck?"

I smiled grimly. "Yeah, let's go with 'heck.' It doesn't sound as lethal and demonic."

"That bad?" Matt was a guy who I swear was created to be worried about everyone else's problems.

"Worse. Way worse than-"

Loud thumping on the floor.

"Dear God!" Matt bolted for the door. We dashed out of the room and up the stairs.


	11. Chapter 10

(McKian's POV)

I remember coming through the portal, then landing in a heap on the floor. And then everything went really blurry. All I remember is laying on the floor, trying to make sense of everything that happened on the Grid. Lots of accidents... defecting scientist... Beck- the Renegade- blowing up a mind-control device... Tesler throwing some out of control party (yeah, since when did almighty back-stabbing Tesler try to keep programs happy? That was the only weird thing happening on the Grid; the mind-control thing was normal.)

"Mac?"

My vision finally cleared. I looked up at Matt and Skigh standing over me. Matt grabbed my arm; it hurt, everything hurt as he pulled me up. "What happened? Why were you gone so long?" Um, would you like the long story, or the extra-long story? Either way works for me.

"Mind control device... weird orange stuff... Renegade blowing up the mind control device," I mumbled, slurring everything together. I was exhausted. Extra-short story it is.

Skigh frowned as I sat on the couch. "Good thing it's a Saturday. You look shot." Saturday... that was a good thing, right?

"I feel shot. Hi, Matt."

Matt grinned and nodded.

I took a deep breath. "What day is it again?"

"Saturday, December thirteenth." Skigh sighed. "You look terrible. Just rest, and you'll be..."

Everything else, every single noise, faded together and I fell asleep. I needed a break.

* * *

I didn't feel confident.

I didn't feel brave.

I didn't feel like I even remotely belonged, except around Skigh.

I didn't feel like much of anything.

Even with my eyes closed, I could feel everything else around me, all the people, all the programs, all the questions... they just never disappeared, no matter how much I wished they would. Every time I closed my eyes, I just wished that everything would stop spinning around me. But sometime, I knew I'd have to stop wishing and face the truth.

McKian Karson was just a name, just an identity made up of half-answered questions. I didn't exist. I shouldn't exist. I shouldn't have even been alive, or in the User world.

And yet, somehow, I was.

It hurt feeling alone. It hurt being alone. And half the time, even with the great guys at REVOLUTION, I felt like I was isolated, Maybe if I could get rid of the marks, maybe if my hair would turn a different color...

Even that couldn't change the fact that I had a watch permanently stuck to my arm.

I didn't feel like the creator of Skigh and Alan (and Kevin Flynn) and the whole User world should care about me at all. No one else, except for Skigh and a couple of her friends, cared about me. I was so different. I kept mixing up cycles and days. I kept forgetting what day it was. I slipped half the time when Skigh reviewed my "past" with me. Not sure about anything, any time, ever. At all.

But when I was around Skigh, or running across Beck somewhere in Argon, or ripping a camera apart with Matt-

or turning the worn pages in that little blue book-

I felt like I kind of belonged somewhere.

...

"Hey, guys!"

I grinned as Matt looked up from destroying yet another camera and Skigh walked over, a cup of hot coffee in her hand. The weird smell coming from the coffee made my stomach churn. What had she called that stuff? Creamer? Wasn't it vanilla or something? I couldn't-

"What's up?" Skigh grinned and leaned on the camera. "Another news flash from God knows where?"

Matt laughed. "What else would it be?"

I rolled my eyes and tapped my watch. "These two..." A hologram of two programs appeared, talking to each other by a derailed train hanging off what looked like an unfinished bridge. The volume was really quiet so we wouldn't attract too much attention. Instead of focusing on my announcement, I kept looking around at all the Christmas lights everywhere and all the twinkling garland. Everything in this world had so much light, and everything, especially when it was freezing out (like right now in the middle of December) looked so beautiful-

Skigh nearly spit her mouthful of weird brown stuff across the set. "No way! Those two actually having a civilized conversation without ripping each other to bits?"

"Uh, I'm obviously missing something here." Matt crossed his arms and pointed to the small holographic screen. "So that's the wicked witch Paige?"

"Not exactly wicked." Skigh tried for another sip of coffee. "More like misguided and gullible."

Matt nodded and pointed to the other program. I smirked. "Beck."

"Um, so why would those two not get along?" Matt frowned. "I mean, seriously, she just said that she'd like to hang out with him."

Skigh nearly spit the coffee out again. She swallowed and grinned. "Maybe some other time. But those two on a date?! That in and of itself could destroy the Grid."

"Again, why?" Matt grabbed Skigh's coffee. "Not letting you choke on this."

"Thank you, Mister Bodyguard-Sir," Skigh muttered and laughed. "I'll guess that the first date lasts."

I shook my head. "There's no way on the Grid, or here, that the first date will even happen."

Skigh held up her hand. "And I'll also guess-"

"Oh no," Matt nudged me. "She's gonna guess the big one."

"And," Skigh continued, "The second date gets wrecked."

I bumped Matt back. "See? I told you those two couldn't last."

"Who couldn't last?"

We all jumped. Closing down the screen, I turned around. HUNTER. Like I said earlier, there was no way on the Grid, or on this God-Given earth (doing better with my User-Vocabulary) that the first date, let alone ANY date, would ever happen. I don't think I could even be close to her with the overwhelming amount of perfume she was doused in.

"I believe I asked a question," Hunter snapped and snapped her fingers.

"Um," I couldn't believe I was about to say this. "Us. Me and you... we won't last."

Hunter smiled. "Yes we will. We can last together."

"No." I shook my head. "No, we can't."

She sighed. "Oh come on. You can't be that young."

"THAT young? How old are you?" This could work... this could work...

"Twenty-seven. Why?" Hunter's hand grabbed my coat and pulled on the collar. "You have to be at least twenty-one."

I pushed her hand away. "Uh, no. I'm only eighteen."

Hunter gasped, then recovered from shock. "Well, age is just a number."

"Yeah, and our two numbers are ten years apart."

Matt and Skigh snickered as Hunter stomped off again.

"What's so funny?"

We all jumped again and whirled around to see Mr. Christopher, hands in his pockets and grinning. "Matt, I'd like to talk to you about a..." his smile grew wider. "A promotion. Meet me later in the lobby and we'll talk about it over dinner, okay?"

Matt's jaw dropped. "Are you serious, Mr. Christopher?"

"Yes." Ian's hand landed on Matt's shoulder. "And I'm 'Ian' to you." He turned around and headed for the door. "See you later, Matt."

Skigh laughed. "Okay. Looks like I'll have a new set director."

Matt couldn't stop smiling as he said, "Now I'm nervous." He picked up the now-cold cup of Skigh's coffee and drank out of it. "Wait, what did I just drink?!"

Skigh started laughing again. And so did I.

...

"So, you think Matt will get the promotion?"

Skigh shrugged. "Knowing Ian, probably." She folded her arms on the kitchen table and sighed. "How'd Beck and Paige turn out?"

I tapped my watch and showed her the video of them on their first date, them on the second at a club- and then them getting arrested. "Pavel decided to try to get Paige out of the picture."

"What'd he do?" Skigh stared at me, fascinated.

"Um, he had someone implant a false memory in her disc after she got arrested-"

Skigh laughed. "Sounds like Pavel."

"And then Paige and Beck broke out of jail."

"Wouldn't be Beck's first time. Can't believe Tesler's arrested the Renegade twice and let him go both times... they did make it out, right?"

I nodded and continued. "Then Paige and Beck parted ways and Paige got arrested again when she tried investigating the false memory."

Skigh rolled her eyes. "Wow... someone can't evade the cops. Keep going."

I laughed. "So then Paige got thrown into the games and Pavel decided to fight her."

"She'd kick his sorry butt."

"Yeah, normally. But he had the UPGRADE."

Skigh gasped. "What?!" she shook her head and flopped back in her seat, mumbling, "I thought that was destroyed."

"No, Pavel took one of the halves after Beck sliced it in half." Beck really should've thought that through a little more. "And let's just say one thing led to another and the Renegade ended up flying out of the Coliseum on a light jet with Paige as an unhappy passenger."

"Sounds like Beck was trying to win her over to his side. Actually, that's not a bad-"

I cut her off. "I watched Beck pull up NINE viewing screens with Paige's picture froze on them. This was more than winning her over to join him in the revolution. Tron told him she may be a lost cause."

"I'm guessing she was?" Skigh asked, sounding like she already knew my answer.

"Sort of. Pavel framed the Renegade for messing with her disc and convinced Tesler of that too. So Paige hates the Renegade even more."

Skigh rubbed her forehead and said, "So much for that. She would've been an excellent recruit. Probably could give good ol' Tron a run for his money! Paige really needs to-" she sat up suddenly and pulled out her vibrating phone. "Hello?... yeah, this is Skigh... uh-huh... uh-huh... yeah, they left the studio at around- are you serious?!... who did this?!... are they okay?... oh, God. Okay, we'll be there... thanks." She turned off her phone and stood up, shaking. "Come on."

"Where are we going?" I asked as I stood up and watched Skigh hastily grab her coat and keys.

"The hospital. Matt and Ian were in an accident."


	12. Chapter 11

**PART TWO: FIREFLIES**

**"It's hard to say I'd rather stay awake when I'm asleep, 'cause everything is never as it seems..." -Owl City**

* * *

(Skigh's POV)

Christmas came and went. The details? Um... let's just say that Alex's impression of McKian didn't get any better.

But the car accident? Ian and Matt were in a limo when it flipped. Over. Landed on the roof. Matt had some cuts and bruises, and a couple cracked ribs, but was fine otherwise. Ian was about the same.

Limo driver? He wasn't as lucky; broken leg, broken arm, concussion- and he swore that he didn't do anything. Turns out he was right. The brakes were cut.

Halfway through January, Ian and Matt were out of the hospital. Good news.

And Alex had revealed his overwhelming urge with canceling Uprising. Bad news.

I almost agreed with him; the death threats were getting more and more serious. Ian and Matt's accident was most likely the result of a death threat, too. But I couldn't agree with him; he mainly wanted to rid REVOLUTION of McKian.

Some nights, I hoped that if I fell asleep, I could forget everything. But as soon as my head hit the pillow, the nightmares came pouring in. Half the time the real world seemed better than the flashbacks; and the other half was vice versa. Talk about a no-win situation.

I felt like giving up on it all.

* * *

**"Every tear in my eyes dripped and wouldn't drop - every disc in my spine shook and couldn't stop. Keep the pace just in case all the magic dies, 'cause this is driving me crazy…" **

I lost track of the rest of the song, then realized what the song was. Grabbing my iPod out of my pocket, I jammed my finger into the "rewind" button and bit my lip as I re-listened to the second verse.

**"Every hand let me go that I tried to hold- every warm-hearted love left me freezing cold. Keep the pace just in case all the magic dies, 'cause this is driving me crazy…"**

The chorus pounded in my ears as I cranked the volume to high Heaven. I closed my eyes and sighed, rolling onto my stomach on the couch. Maybe if I blew my ears out- maybe then I would be able to think straight…

...

**"So you pull away from the love that would've been there-"**

"Skigh?"

**"-and start believing that-"**

"Skigh!"

**"-your situation's unfair-"**

"Skigh!"

**"-but there's always scars when you fall that far-"**

"SKIGH!"

I jumped as the music faded and the pressure on my ears disappeared. "What-"

"How loud was that?" Mac stood by the couch, dressed in an old t-shirt and jeans, holding my headphones. I could still hear the music playing. "You look tired."

I rolled my eyes. "No I don't," I mumbled as I started yawning.

Mac's turn to roll his eyes. "Yeah, you do."

I glared at him. "Okay, fine. I'm shot." Another yawn. "Anything new?"

"Nope. Nothing at all." Mac flopped down on the couch and rubbed his head. "Tesler's just sitting there, Beck's at the garage for once and…" he sighed. "That's it."

"You run into anyone new?" I asked, trying not to yawn again.

McKian shook his head. "Not unless you count having programs stare at you all the time."

"So I'm taking that as a 'no'?"

Mac wasn't answering. I felt pressure on my shoulders and back as the couch shifted. And then I felt more pressure on my arm. I looked at him, then noticed his one arm disappearing behind me. His eyes started glowing again as his locked with mine. "You okay? You're sounding kinda hoarse."

His hand brushed over my shirt, hitting the scar on the top of my left arm. I shivered. "I'm fine. Really, I'm-" my voice gave out.

Mac grabbed the green wool blanket that I guess I'd thrown onto the floor in my sleep. He opened it and draped it over me. "Here. Just rest, okay?"

I could feel McKian rubbing my arm as I fell asleep. Finally, a break from life.

* * *

"Hello?"

"Skigh…" Oh God, no. No, no, no, no- "How've you been? It's been a while since we last talked."

I rolled my eyes and motioned for Mac and Matt to be quiet; they were laughing their heads off as they watched the Renegade blow up CLU's statue for the billionth time. I stepped away and muttered, "Gee, and I was just starting to forget."

"How could you forget about me, Skigh?" His voice… my scars burned, the one on my neck throbbing.

"Believe me, I tried. What do you want, Dimwit?"

His ragged sigh rang in my ears. "If you value your reputation, you'll stop calling me that."

Oh no. "What are you talking about?"

"McKian."

"I see you've switched targets," I snapped, looking over my shoulder at Matt and Mac. They were silent, but still staring at the computer screen.

Dimwit laughed. "Oh, you've got it wrong. I haven't switched targets. I've just, hmm…" If my fist could've gone through the phone and socked him in the nose, it would have. "I've just acquired a new one."

"If you think I'm caving, you're wrong."

Dimwit laughed; he sounded like some insane maniac. "If you're interested in saving your reputation, you'll meet me at ENCOM."

This was bad. "When?"

"Eight. My office."

"And that would be where…?" Seriously? The guy was never at ENCOM. No one even knew his NAME.

Another evil laugh. "Just meet me in the lobby."

…

Every step I took echoed. Everything was dark. I looked out at my roadster again. Still parked by the curb, still in tact.

I squinted, trying to figure out what time it was.

8:12.

I unzipped my leather jacket and started walking in circles. 8:13 came and went, as did every minute until eighty thirty-

"Hey, never saw you before." I shrugged and walked over to a vending machine that seemed to have magically appeared. Fishing a dollar out of my wallet, I smoothed it out and decided to see if my unlucky streak with vending machines was still running. "Here we go…" A Coke sounded pretty good. And even if I didn't drink it, there was nothing stopping me from pouring it over Dimwit's head when and if he showed up.

The can bounced to the bottom of the machine. I grabbed it and frowned. Dented. I cautiously opened it and took a sip. "That is a lot of things, but Coke is not one of them." It was flat, it was bitter and it had a weird after-taste.

"I see you've discovered the new vending machine."

I jumped and whirled around to face the voice. The lights in the lobby flickered to life. "So you're the lunatic behind it all."

Dimwit's colorless eyes narrowed. "Watch it, Skigh. You're on very shaky ground."

I shrugged and held up the damaged can of something. "And about your vending machine: what year did you drag this thing out of? Soda's flat."

"We're not here to discuss the quality of the soda in that machine," Dimwit rasped, his open-mouthed smile revealing his crooked teeth. The lights reflected off his bald head. "We're here to discuss McKian."

I took another sip of the stuff in the can, struggling to swallow it. "What about him?"

"I know his little secrets, every single one of them."

I stared at him, hoping my voice was some-what steady as I asked, "And just what are these secrets?"

"That he's a fake. That his identity is a lie. That HE'S only a big, fat lie." He stopped and took a deep breath. "And those tattoos of his… not even remotely normal. That watch looks like a Doomsday device designed to fit on your wrist. Who is he, Skigh?"

"He is McKian Karson. And he," so help me, God- this had to come off as believable- "he is real. And he's perfectly normal."

Dimwit laughed. "Normal? He's not normal, Skigh. He's as normal as a martian."

"And you're as nutty as a fruitcake. Are we done here?"

Dimwit reached into his pocket and pulled out a flash-drive. "This holds McKian's secrets, the ones I know about. Either Alan leaves ENCOM, or McKian's precious little past gets leaked to the world from a 'reliable source.' How does that sound?"

"It sounds like it came out of a lunatic's mouth," I snapped back.

"Oh, Skigh… the games we play are delightful." He stepped closer to me and patted my shoulder. The feeling that rattled through me nearly made me hurl on him.

I grabbed his hand and wrapped my fingers around his thumb, twisting it backwards. He winced and started trying to separate my hand from his. "I'm not playing your games, " I snarled. "And if you leak that, I'll become your worst nightmare. No force on this earth will stop me." I let go of his hand.

He massaged his hand and started walking away. "I need to know about dear old Alan by Friday. Don't forget."

I stared after him as the lights faded away and Dimwit disappeared. "I wish I could."

* * *

Wednesday.

The trek up my road was scary, the orange twisting slope frozen and packed in two feet of snow.

Well, at least it was. I'd shoveled the whole thing. And I was soaked from slipping and landing face-first in the icy blanket of snow several times.

Everything was turning to ice. I started feeling like I was, too. Nothing made sense. And Dimwit… that nutcase only added to my headache. There had to be a way to save Alan's job and stop Mac's secrets from being leaked to the world.

I finally made it to the garage. "Good night," I muttered, thankful that they'd called off the show for today. I peeled off my coat and kicked off my boots, snow covering the garage floor. My arms turned red as I stepped into the elevator. Using the reflective door as a mirror, I pulled off my hat and ran my hand through my hair. "Wow…" my hair had grown quite a bit in the last few months; the blue dye on the lower half was starting to fade. It now reached past my shoulders, almost completely blonde. Maybe this time I could try purple dye? Or maybe just dye it all brown? Whatever made me look different than what I really was- that's what I was fine with.

The door slid open. I saw a tall figure in a grey sweatshirt and sweatpants tapping on the computer screen. "Hey, Mac."

McKian stared at me, his eyes glowing and his visible skin almost the same color as the falling snow. (So much for the road…) "Hi." He kept staring at me, stone-still. His watch was lit up and pulsing.

"You okay?" I asked, watching as he did absolutely nothing but stand there.

After what seemed like years, he broke eye contact and rubbed his glowing green hands over the screen. "I'm fine, Skigh. How many cycl-" he stopped and grimaced. "-days was I gone?"

"Just overnight. What happened, Mac? You're not acting right." I crossed my arms, regretting how much the cold feeling in them increased when they made contact.

McKian didn't answer. He just kept tapping the screen and sliding his hands over the screen.

I limped over to him and frowned. He'd pulled up the list of programs who'd died for the revolution. I sighed as I read the list:

Bodhi

Black Guard (We never found out his name.)

Rilo

Lux

There others as well, but I felt the blood drain from my red face as he pressed his fingertips on the screen beneath the last name and slid them across, leaving a bright blue streak. Mac pulled away his hand and took a deep breath, the light on his watch pulsing faster. It wasn't the normal blue; it was green. He tapped the streak and closed his eyes.

"Who are you adding?" I tried to get him to talk, but that failed. He was silent as the streak started to form letters. I couldn't believe whose name he'd just added.

ABLE.

"Able was derezzed?"

McKian nodded. "Yeah," he mumbled. At least he was talking. "Cyrus came back and wanted revenge."

"On Able?"

"No, on Beck and Tron." Mac's breathing was heavy. "He tried making Beck chose between saving his friends' lives or Tron's-"

I figured it out. "And Beck sent Able to save Mara and Zed while he got to Tron."

Mac nodded. "I saw the crane explode…. I saw him die!" Mac punched the wall. "And I was too late!"

"Hey, it's not your fault that he died. You didn't know that would happen," I said as I rubbed his back. "When did you get there?"

"Right after the Renegade pulled up." Mac hung his head. "And now 'Renegade' Beck's been accused of killing him and a couple other programs." He bit his lip and muttered, "I might have been able to save him."

I sighed. Nothing was working out. At all.

…

Thursday Morning.

I had one day left… I had one day to figure out a solution.

And how did I decide to spend my time? I was sifting through Beck's memories at three in the morning, watching how everything went down with Cyrus. I'd seen their first confrontation a while ago, but it was nothing compared to Cyrus' return. I could've punched the guy. And I'd found quite a few names that described him: jerk, lunatic, sadist, nutcase, whack-job, crazy-person, etc.

Leave it to me to be doing something that seemed totally irrelevant, especially when it seems like my world is going to crash down around me.

"Tron trapped you here?" Beck's words were echoing, mainly because I was wondering why I was watching this thing again. "You're locked in."

I glared at Cyrus as he appeared on the screen. There had to be an answer. "It's a prison, Beck. My prison." I rolled my eyes as his voice made my stomach churn. "But all prisons have a key."

I turned off the display and sat down on the couch. (Wow, this couch got a lot of use over the last couple months.) Maybe there was a way to reason with Dimwit? No, no one could reason with him. He was so whacko-

Wait a sec! Dimwit was just as bad a Cyrus. There had to be a way to outsmart him and get the stupid memory stick.

There just had to be a way to-

"Blasted phone!" I grabbed my vibrating phone and slammed my finger through the "send" button. "Hello?"

"Skigh…."

Great… "What?"

"You have one day left. make your decision quickly, Skigh."

There had to be a way. "What if I don't have my decision tomorrow?"

Dimwit laughed. I pulled the phone away from my ear. "I've already thought of that…" Yay, Dimwit was using his brain. "I'll be meeting you at REVOLUTION at noon."

"Why at REVOLUTION?" This wasn't looking good.

"Because I have the build rigged with explosives, dear misguided Skigh. No answer when I show up, and Uprising goes up in flames, along with every employee. That's why I'll be coming to your place of employment to get my answer. And, knowing you, you'll have my answer."

He hung up.

I sat there, staring outside. There had to be a way out, there just HAD to! There was always a way out. I almost laughed as Cyrus' words played back in my head:

"All prisons have a key…"

And that key was…

* * *

"McKian and Skigh!" The secretary seated behind her desk in the lobby grinned at us. "How are you today?"

I smiled. "We're a little busy, actually. Could you contact Mr. Christopher and tell him that the show won't be on today?"

Her silvery-black hair bounced as she adjusted her red-rimmed glasses. "Sure. May I ask why?"

"Um, we're having technical difficulties on set." That sounded lame. I continued with a rushed, "But we've already called in some people to repair the broken things on set and they said the things won't be fixed for a couple days."

The secretary nodded. "I'll call him and let him know right away. But what's wrong exactly, in case he asks?"

I rolled up my coat sleeves nervously. "Uh, um… you know, they're just some broken things that need-" I stunk at this "-fixing and whatnot. Mac, what time is it?"

"Ten fourteen." Glancing at McKian, he looked as nervous as I did. I'd told him everything, except for the fact that the guy who planted the explosives wanted to leak his secrets to the world.

"We gotta go. Thanks for passing on the message!" We ran back into the emergency stairs exit. "Mac, can you find the bombs?"

McKian tapped his watch and a holographic set of REVOLUTION blueprints appeared. "Okay, there's one on Uprising's set, one on the second floor and one-" he stopped.

"One where? We don't even have two hours left!" I looked at the display. "It's there?!"

"Yep." Mac sighed.

I sighed too. "Three bombs. One on the second half of the lobby, on my set and one in Alex's office." I shivered. God only knows if we could get to the bombs before the went off. "Let's go. Uprising's bomb first."

* * *

_-Lyrics from Owl City "Dementia" and Toby Mac "Get Back Up"_


	13. Chapter 12

(Mac's POV)

"What am I looking at? This thing can't be a bomb."

I rolled my eyes and slid my fingers down the display on my watch. "Skigh, this thing is a bomb."

Skigh laughed. "It's a stupid tube."

I frowned. "No, it's a big silver bomb." The warmth from the hologram was unnerving; I'd never noticed it before. "And it's a mess."

"Can you stop it?"

I shrugged. "How much time do we have?"

"Hour and a half."

Not sounding good. "Well, untangling this should take an hour."

Skigh shook her head and cradled the bomb in her hands. "Not funny. And I see you've been working on your vocab. Thinking of trying it out on the public?"

I kept playing with the codes in the bomb. "If we're still alive after this. Ah, this thing's a disaster…" I turned off the display and hit several buttons. Holding out my left hand- the one with the watch- I smirked as a black object rezzed up in the palm of my hand.

Now this wasn't any old object, and I wished I'd thought of it sooner. Beck, secret-keeping buddy Beck, had a crazy tool that could fix just about anything. (Thanks, Bodhi.) And now I held in my hand a duplicate.

Let's hope the copy worked just as good as the original.

"May I ask what that thing is?" Skigh stared at it like it would attack her.

I grabbed the foot-long bomb from Skigh's hands and pressed the tool against the edge. "It's a tool. And I'm hoping that it'll work. Otherwise, we're dead."

...

"Next step, lobby."

I frowned as we raced down the stairs. "What about Alex's office?"

Skigh flew down the stairs; I'd never seen her this focused. "Your concerned about my brother who hates you?"

"Yeah." I skipped the last four stairs and kept moving. "I guess I am."

"Well, we'll get the one in the lobby and then race back up to Alex," Skigh gasped. "Man, I always hated gym class!"

I turned and looked at her. "What?"

"Nothing. Just keep moving. The door's coming right up… There! This door!" Skigh's feet hit the ground at the same time as mine. She pushed the door open and froze. "And nobody's here! Come on!"

I sighed. "Why does this building have two lobbies?"

"Don't ask me! I didn't build it!" Skigh flew behind one of the desks and started opening and closing drawers. "Where's the bomb?"

I looked up. "You have got to be kidding me."

"Where's the blasted bomb?!"

I pointed to the ceiling. "Up in that."

Skigh stood on the desk, crunching papers and documents under her feet. "Are you serious?! That's a chandelier!"

"Well, how do we get to the bomb? Drop the big light?" I couldn't pronounce "chandelier" if I tried.

"No, that would just draw attention. Can you get up above it?"

I looked around at the layout of the lobby. Several large pillars connected the very high ceiling with the floor, then went through the floor to the lower lobby. And there was a purple curtain woven between the pillars and the big light thing. "I'll give it a shot."

…

"I don't even want to know how you did that."

I had wrapped the one end of the curtain around my hand; I was practically laying on it like it was a support beam. If I leaned over an inch more, I would fall into the big light-up crystal thingy. "Neither do I," I muttered. "Just make sure no one's coming."

Looking into the center of the crystals, I grinned and reached down to grab the cylinder. This one was gold like the rings on the shiny thing. "Got it. Anyone coming?"

"No."

I let go of the curtain and flipped backwards off it. I landed standing up, right next to Skigh. "Where's the tool?"

Skigh pulled the tool out of her pocket and tapped the side of the bomb. "Okay, so one to go."

"Yeah…" I really didn't want to deal with Alex again. But, there were a lot of lives on the line, so…

"Let's go save dear brother Alex."

* * *

_Thanks again for the reviews, guys! They mean a lot. :) (I need something to draw... any ideas?)_


	14. Chapter 13

(Skigh's POV)

Was I born with an iPod built into my brain? Seriously, trying to focus on racing up flight upon flight of stairs with random music blasting inside my head was almost impossible.

**"...I'm James Bond- live to die another day..."**

**"...will we be dying for nothing or dying for something..."**

Left foot, right foot, left, right, up the stairs, GET OUT OF MY HEAD ALREADY!

**"...I'd rather waltz than just walk through the forest..."**

And I'd rather be able to focus than have random lyrics echoing in my brain. DO YOU MIND?!

**"...where cherry bombs stain the black birds red and explosions never make a sound..."**

Yeah, that's great and all. But if this building ends up exploding, it'll definitely make a sound!

**"...I got a new passenger to help me navigate the way, so when my heart hits the floor, I can recalibrate..."**

Right now, my feet needed to hit the stairs. Good God, what was going on in my head? And why couldn't I control it?!

**"…can you feel a silk embrace in the satin air? if we dissolve without a trace, will the real world even care…"**

"JUST SHUT UP!" I screamed. The little bit of air in my lungs rushed out and the burn inside them got worse. I just wanted to focus.

"What?"

Shoot… "Not you, Mac! Sorry…" I was surprised I could even get the words out. "Next door."

McKian rammed his body into the door and kept moving. "Where's your brother?"

I glanced around. No Alex at his massive mahogany desk. No Alex at the refrigerator. No Alex…

anywhere.

Where was- "Oh, he has the day off." My breath started coming back.

"Good. What time is it?" Mac glanced at his watch and started looking for the bomb. His first stop? The garbage can. Um, not exactly the first place I'd look but…

"Eleven thirty-two." Blasted time! And so much for getting my breath back.

McKian drove his foot into the fake palm tree in the corner and sent it flying; when it connected with the grey tile floor, there could've been an earthquake. He turned and twisted around, swinging his foot into the black sphere towards the top of the pale walls. The security camera crackled as it fell from the shattered sphere. "I can't find it! Where's the stupid-"

"Bomb?"

I jumped as Mac answered the raspy voice with, "Yeah, I can't find…" he stopped and turned around, eyes wide. "Who are you?"

Already knowing who it was, I spun on my heel and glared.

Dimwit leaned on a marble pillar and smirked, arms crossed. "So, Skigh, what's your answer?"

Behind my eyes, I could feel heat building up. My hands shook as I clenched them into fists. "I had until noon." The nerve of this guy... hopefully, he didn't have any kids.

"Well, I stopped by early." Dimwit reached into his beige overcoat and pulled out a little grey box with a red button sticking out of it. "And I see you got to my bombs early, too. But, sadly, not all of them."

Oh no. "What?"

Another crooked, deceitful smile. "I planted a few more, two smaller ones in the lobby, a new one on your set, maybe a few more elsewhere." He pressed the red button. "If I don't have my answer in the next-" he stopped to look at his leather watch "-nineteen minutes, this building is history."

Everything inside me screamed as he reached into his pocket again and pulled out a flash-drive, the same one that held Mac's secrets. He took a deep breath and exhaled; the smell of beer and God knows what else filled the room instantly. "So, your answer?"

I stared at the little black flash-drive. What if it was empty? It probably was… gee, great time for this theory to surface.

"I'm waiting," Dimwit snapped, waving his hands around.

I needed to stall, needed time to figure out if it was worth the risk, worth the gamble to say… what was I going to say anyway?

Dimwit laughed. "Maybe your friend could answer for you. Did you tell him?"

I smirked and gazed straight into his lifeless, pallid eyes. He stared back, the grey edges around his pupils turning an icy blue. "No."

"No, what?" The color faded again as he sounded nastier than ever.

Poker face this time. "No Alan, no McKian."

"That's not an option, Skigh. It's one or the other." He glared at me again. "Choose. One. NOW."

How could Mac possibly stay quiet through all this? How could he possibly-

The ground shook as the floor cracked open beneath us. "What did you do, DIMWIT?!" I screamed over the rattling plaster.

He threw the controller across the room, sweat pouring down his face, along with chunks of plaster. He was scared. Finally, some emotion from this guy! "Th-there must be a short in the mainframe!"

"No, duh!" I grabbed my brother's phone off his desk and brushed off the plaster as more rained down on us. I punched in the key code. "Everyone, listen up! Several bombs have been found in the building." It was almost impossible to keep my voice steady as I forced out, "Please evacuate the building ASAP! I repeat, EXIT THE BUILDING NOW!" I put the phone down just as another explosion rocked the building; three of the five pillars crashed down, rolling across the floor and tearing up the tiles.

So much for saving REVOLUTION.

Mac rushed over to Dimwit as the floor ripped open beneath him. Dimwit, hands locked around Mac's bloody (wait, when did THAT happen?!) arms and wrists, dangled eight floors from the ground lobby. He looked terrified. "Pull me up! Pull me up!"

I ran over to McKian and noticed why Dimwit's hold stunk. He was still clutching the flash-drive. I grabbed his hand and pried it from his fingers. "We'll pull you up! Give me your hand." I reached for his hand. Hey, just because he's the enemy doesn't mean I'd let him fall to his death.

Dimwit shook his head and slapped me, his hands sweaty. "NO!" he yelled, his voice cracking. "I need the flash-drive! IT'S MINE! I need IT!"

Mac glanced at me, nervous. "I can't hold him much longer," he gasped, his hands covered in blood.

"Stop moving and we'll pull you up!" I shouted back, taking one of Dimwit's hands. We tried to pull him, but he kept throwing himself around-

and let go of Mac.

I felt my arms catch on fire as another bomb went off and he slipped. Only having his one hand, I desperately grabbed at his free, flailing left one. "Give me your hand, Dimwit. I'm trying to help you!" This sounded way too familiar… hey, Beck had said this as the Renegade-

to a guy who fell to his death.

I felt so encouraged by that thought.

"GIVE ME THE FLASH-DRIVE, SKIGH!" It sounded like Dimwit's throat had ripped open as he screamed again and again the same thing. His hand started slipping.

Another shock shook REVOLUTION. He slipped more. "SKIGH!"

I couldn't hold him. I knew I'd end up with another bad memory: having to let someone fall to their death. Now I knew how Beck felt. Being the Renegade, and dealing with Tron, couldn't be easy. "Dimwit, don't!"

He thrashed again.

The iPod imbedded in my mind switched on as I felt Mac try to grab him again, and I felt more of the floor break away as he missed.

**"…i****f I just believe my eyes. I'd see I should be terrified. But I'm so alive. I don't know how or when, but I believe that You'll come through…"**

I felt plaster tumble down on us again as his hand slipped more. No, no, no… I couldn't let him fall, I couldn't...

**"…Lord, I'm trusting You…"**

The tears in my eyes rolled down my plaster-coated face as the weight on me disappeared.

**"…Can't wait to see what You will do…"**

…

"Any life-signs still in the building?"

Mac glanced at his watch and shook his head. "No- wait! Two in the lobby!"

We were racing down the stairs again as explosion after explosion ripped apart the building. "Anyone dead?"

"One. The same one as the last three times." McKian sighed as he jumped over debree. "The two in the lobby are camera guys from your set. One's unconscious, the other one's trapped under debris."

This got better and better. I could feel the weight of Dimwit's flash-drive in my pocket; it was like it got heavier with every step. "Let's go get them then."

…

The lobby was destroyed. Pillars had fallen on desks. The curtains were draped over the massive piles of smashed pillars, ceiling and floor tile from higher floors. I couldn't believe the damage. "Where are they?"

Mac pointed at one of the smashed rushed over. "Well, he used to be conscious. Tapping the screen of his watch, McKian lifted the crushed desk with ease and heaved it. "Pretty heavy desk there," he muttered, picking up the man. I winced as I took notice of the deep slash running down his cheek and another one cutting into his neck.

"Where's the other one?"

Mac freed one of his hands from holding the motionless camera man and pointed back at the elevators. "Skigh, we have nine minutes left." His eyes glowed, the green brighter than ever. "We have to get them out."

I nodded and ran over to the elevators. Sure enough, our forty-three year old camera man with a wife and three kids lay there, covered in tiles and a huge amount of powder. Thankfully, he was short and skinny. I grabbed him and got him over to Mac, who was standing by the doors, most of them now piles of glass. I stared out at the streets.

Normally, these streets were filled with taxis, numerous other vehicles and people deciding that running through the oncoming traffic was better than the crosswalks. But now, they were filled with REVOLUTION employees and…

COPS.

Yeah, I should've known they'd be here. Great…

Two cops ran up to the doors from the dozens of them acting as a barricade. They grabbed the camera men from McKian and ran back to an ambulance that had pulled up with its brakes screeching and tires smoking. More chaos.

Mac turned back from the doors as two more explosions went off. "What was he talking about?"

He wasn't serious… "Mac, we are standing in a building that is gonna explode! I think we should be out there, not in here!"

"No, I want an answer," McKian said, grabbing my arm and pulling me towards him as more of the building fell. "What did he want?"

I sighed. "He wanted to release information he had on you. I don't even know if he had anything on that flash-drive to begin with. Now come on!"

Mac bit his lip. "Skigh, how did he find out?"

"I don't think he ever did. Here." I reached into my pocket and pulled out the flash-drive. The cold, black case around it sent chills through me as I handed it to Mac.

He, Lord knows how, plugged it into his watch and frowned. The next two words out of his mouth I expected: "It's empty." But his tone…

He never knew. Dimwit never knew the truth. I looked at McKian. "I'm sorry I never told you, but I wasn't sure what he was up to or-"

"It's fine." Mac cut me off with his words. "But like you said, we need to get out of here. NOW."

"How much time's left?" I asked as we started heading for the doors again. Glass and steel started raining down this time. We dropped to the floor and waited for it to stop.

"Two minutes!" McKian yelled over the creaking of the support beams and the groaning of the broken floors.

We needed to get out of here before we were trapped. (Yeah, Mac's idea of talking in private involved standing in a building that was ready to collapse. Well, nobody could've heard us, so…)

Looking up at the damage, I realized that there was only one escape route now, and it wasn't through the doors. Looked at the small hole in the glass and sighed. "Mac, there's only one way out. Up there. Now go."

"What?!" He looked at me like I'd lost it. "I am NOT going first!"

"Yes, you are. I'll be right behind you."

"But I-"

My shoulders sagged as I understood what he wanted. "There's no time to debate this. You're going out first."

We started climbing up the piles of fallen glass and who knows what else. I heard people screaming outside as another bomb went off. Now a solid ten feet off the ground, we knelt by the hole and looked out. So many people… I nudged Mac. "Go. Get out of here."

He nodded this time and slid himself, head first, out the hole. He passed through the sharp glass and disappeared outside. As soon as his feet vanished, more of the ceiling caved in and fell, blocking the exit. At least Mac was out.

More of the building crumbled; I slipped and fell to the floor, support beams coming crashing down over me. I was trapped.

Tried to open my eyes. Everything swirled together, twisting in and out of focus. Only one more minute and everything would be over. The pain in my back would disappear. So would the stream of blood rolling down from my temple. And the flashbacks…

**"Good luck getting out of here alive…" **

They'd be gone, too.

I cringed as more of the structure came tumbling down. Coughed as the plaster flew again. Any second now-

the final explosion came.

I felt something crash on top of my hand… something smacked the support beams… windows shattered… everything was turning black.

**"When everything turns dim, it's love that finds a way..."**

**"It's one last time before we fly away..."**

* * *

_-Lyrics from (in order): Owl City "Bombshell Blonde", Capital Kings and Britt Nicole "Born to Love", Owl City "Plant Life, Owl City "Kamikaze" (great song!), TobyMac and Britt Nicole "Eye on It", Owl City "The Real World", Royal Tailor "Freefall" and Capital Kings "Be There"_

_I think it's time to turn off my iPod now...  
_


	15. Chapter 14

(Mac's POV)

Being outside and seeing all the gaping holes in REVOLUTION was terrifying. The blue steel wall around the building had been turned into dust, and the gardens and parking lot were destroyed as well.

And when the final bomb exploded, there was no sign of Skigh.

…

"…get rescue teams in there…"

"…the kid said everyone was out, except Skigh…"

"… any clue where Skigh could be? I mean, the chances aren't…"

"… so we're sure everybody's out of there except little miss TV star?…"

The fragments of conversation I picked up from the cops weren't inspiring. No one, except for me apparently, was injured. That was good.

But no Skigh?

I couldn't stand there behind the barricade with medics poking at my shining red arm any more. I glanced around to make sure no one was watching; thankfully, they were staring at the damaged shell of a beautiful building. I tapped the screen on my watch and entered in the necessary codes, my fingers numb. I don't even remember typing in the commands. I just wanted the reading to show her alive, show me that Skigh was still there.

The screen flashed several times. I covered it with my hand so no one could see. After waiting for what seemed like an eternity, I pulled my hand away and stared at the display.

One life sign.

SKIGH.

I looked up again as the cops started picking apart the rumble and storming into what was left of the smoking lobby, then back at my watch. Skigh was right there, under the rubble on the left (or was it on the right?) side of the building. And apparently, her one arm was sprained. And she was barely breathing.

I had to get to her.

I looked around. There had to be a way around security, some opening.

And even if there wasn't, I cared enough about Skigh to make one.

I tapped my watch again, the blue glow coming through between my fingers.

Showtime.

I don't remember ever moving that fast. Ever. All I know is that one thing stood between me and the person who'd protected me for, well, for quite a while; and I also knew that one of my backflips had a shaky landing. But I had made it through the barricade and the cops. I was in the lobby.

Now to find Skigh before she dere- died on me.

Glancing at my watch again, I saw where she was buried under two cross beams. She had been thrown pretty far, and was somewhere where the cops weren't looking.

I knelt by the pile and started brushing aside the chunks of ceiling and pillars. I threw so many things off that pile. Tops of desks, smashed computers, plants that felt like rubber instead of cool and leafy, tiles, smashed lights… (Well, at least I was improving my knowledge of the User world.)

My hand hit something soft and wet. I stared at the fresh blood that covered the dried blood already on my hands and then looked down.

A hand.

Skigh's hand.

I kept digging, throwing dust and who knew what else everywhere. I uncovered her arm. Then her shoulder. And finally her head.

"Oh no…" I gently brushed some of the white powder and blood off her face, jumping when I realized how cold she felt. But she was breathing, if you could call it that. Her breaths sounded squeaky, or something like that. Trying not to cover her in more white powdery stuff, I moved more off her.

"HEY!"

I kept digging her out as footsteps echoed in the now freezing lobby. Snow started falling through the holes in the building, blending in with the blowing powder from the ceiling.

"Kid, what do you think you're doing?!"

I ignored the voice as shoved the beams off Skigh's blood-soaked left arm. What wasn't covered in glistening red was covered in black and blue.

"I asked you what you were-"

The multiple footsteps stopped. I turned and stared at the one, two… five cops standing over me. "I'm trying to save her," I shoot back, my voice uneasy. I turned back to Skigh and kept shoveling with my bare, bloody hands.

…

The cops had helped to dig her out. And then the next few minutes were a blur. I found myself standing between an ambulance and a stretcher, running my hand through Skigh's hair. I kept trying to pick out the little chunks of white stuff, hoping I wasn't hurting her and that I hadn't injured her anymore by digging her out so fast. The medics had put something over her white-stuff-covered face and had wrapped her arm up with a big, white piece of cloth. They had poured something on a cut on her arm and her still form shook. She had groaned, too, and I hoped that she was alright.

So, for I don't know how long, I stood there, running my dirty hand through her dirty hair. I noticed that her hair had grown in the months I'd been in the User world. How long had I been here? October, November, December, January… about four months. Had I really been here that long? Had I-

"Let me through!"

I looked up to see Alan running over, black suit and blue tie free of any white stuff. He gasped as soon as he saw Skigh. "Oh no. Is she okay?"

His wide, blue eyes scared me. "I-I don't know. They haven't said yet."

I stopped running my hand through her hair and sighed. She looked so pale, so exhausted-

and she looked beautiful.

Wait, what?! Maybe I had inhaled too much of that white stuff. Or maybe something was wrong with my code. I shook my head and then noticed I'd grabbed her hand. Mine, caked in crusty blood, practically covered her pale one. What was I doing? What was I thinking?

Skigh coughed, nearly squeezing my hand off as the stretcher shook. She turned her head towards me and slowly opened her eyes. "I'm cold," she mumbled, her voice quiet and gravelly. The mask-thing over her face muffled her voice, making her sound even worse.

I saw why. The medics had to take off her black (now grey from the white stuff) hoodie to bandage her arm. And they'd left it off. I smiled at her and unzipped my jacket, pressing the black leather over her. "Are you okay?"

She nodded, then winced. Her grip got tighter again as she coughed.

Alan crossed his arms. "Why is everyone out here?"

"B-because the building was g-gonna explode." Skigh closed her eyes.

"And why were you in there?"

Skigh's eyes opened. "Because it was exploding."

Alan smirked and patted her arm.

I frowned. That wasn't quite right; she was only in there because she had me get out first. And she was hurt. She nearly died because of me.

And the flash-drive… with that thing in my pocket, I felt weighed down

Great job, McKian.


	16. Chapter 15

(Mac's POV) _**(words in bold italics are Skigh's)**_

"Who found me?"

I turned down the volume on the computer (that thing doubled as a television. Why wasn't I surprised?) "What?"

Skigh twisted on the couch, her left arm laying on my leg. She looked up at me and asked again, "Who found me? The cops?"

I looked away from her big brown eyes. "Yeah, the cops…" I couldn't tell her the truth if I wanted to.

She twisted again, laying down on the couch. Her feet were on the arm of the couch; her head was in my lap, eyes closed. I started running my hand through her hair again, just like I had been hours earlier at REVOLUTION. Or at what was left of it. The part of her hair that was blue was faded, almost turning aqua or green. Even with the cuts and marks on her face, she still looked like the Skigh who'd given me a chance. And, after hours of denying it, I had to face the fact that I liked Skigh. She was my first friend.

And she had a lot of secrets…

It wasn't normal (at least I prayed to the User's God that it wasn't) for someone to scream in their sleep and throw punches at enemies that aren't there. It wasn't normal for someone to obsess over keeping their hands and arms covered; I knew that much because I obsessed over it, too. And she flinched half the time whenever anyone touched her.

I untangled my hand from her hair and rubbed her forehead. She felt really warm…

Wait, my hand was glowing, the left one with the watch. Everything started turning black.

Uh-oh.

* * *

**"Surprised you can handle this much pain… actually, I'm shocked that you can handle any."**

…

**"You see how things work around here? Keep your mouth shut and you live. Open it, and you won't live to see tomorrow. It's that simple."**

…

**"Listen, I say you did it. And they're saying you did it. So why should I believe your one, puny lie over their majority?"**

_**"But I-"**_

**"I DON'T WANT TO HEAR IT! Just admit that you did it and your punishment won't be so severe."**

_**"I didn't do it. I swear."**_

**"Fine. I'll show you what we do to little liars around here. Not that you don't already know."**

…

**"Like anyone would want YOU."**

…

**"What happened to you?" (**ALEX.)

_**"Um, it's not important."**_

**"It is to me. What happened?"**

_**"Uh…"**_

**"Look, I won't hurt you."**

_**"…"**_

**"I promise."**

_**"O-okay…"**_

**"Oh my word! What happened to you? **

_**"Nothing."**_

**"That does NOT look like nothing. What was this done with?! Who did this to you?"**

_**"It d-doesn't matter."**_

**"To me it does."**

_**(indecipherable whispering)**_

**"How long has this been happening?!"**

_**(more whispering, and some crying)**_

**"Why didn't you run away?"**

_**"You think I didn't try?"**_

**"That's it. This ends now. I'm getting you out of there, out of that… PLACE."**

_**"Are you serious?"**_

**"Very. I'm getting you out of there."**

_**"Why do you even care… about someone like me?"**_

…

**"And you want THIS child because…?" **(This was a new voice… almost an evil voice.)

**"Because I think she's special."** (Alex again. He actually sounded, well, nice.)

**"Oh, yes… she is very, very special… Um, Mr. Christopher, are you sure you want this particular child?"**

**"I'm positive."**

**"… so you, sir, want to adopt Skigh MidKnight Walker?"**

**"Yes."**

**"Are you sure?"**

**"Are you trying to talk me out of it?"**

**"…"**

**"I want Skigh. It's that simple."**

**"Fine, Mr. Christopher."**

(A very faint)- _**"Thank God!"**_

…

**"Where's Skigh going?"**

**"I heard she got adopted!"**

**"Great… no more target."** (Lots of voices; angry, nasty, cruel, heartless voices.)

**"Well, who was the whacko with no brains who adopted her?"**

**"Mr. Christopher."**

**"What?! The old dude who runs that TV station?"**

**"He's the old and very RICH dude, remember."**

**"No, no, no- Alex, his son in law."**

**"Oh, that's just GREAT."**

**"Think we'll have time to throw a few more punches? I mean, we barely got any in this week."**

**"Yeah, I think we can fit in a few. Come on, guys. Let's give Skigh a little going-away present."**

* * *

My eyes opened.

I pulled my hand away from Skigh's forehead, shaking. What had just happened? HOW had it happened?

I ran my hand through my hair and sighed. Somehow, I had just seen her past… I'd seen her come close to dying too many times to count. It was hard for me to imagine the Skigh I knew once being scared of just about everybody. And here I was, the outcast on the Grid, feeling like no one really had it worse than I did.

I was wrong.

I glanced at my watch; who knew that thing could actually display the time? 6:24. Two hours since I'd wound up in Skigh's head. (I didn't even want to know how that had happened.)

Skigh mumbled something and twisted again, her hand coming up and bumping the pocket that held the flash-drive. I sighed. Whatever was on that thing gave me a bad feeling.

Time to deal with it.

* * *

_Okay, my friends picked Skigh MidKnight Walker for Skigh's full name before she was adopted._

_Thanks for the reviews, guys! (And, in all honesty, I couldn't get rid of Skigh- she's fun to draw.) :)_


	17. Chapter 16

(Mac's POV)

I'd carried Skigh downstairs and laid her on her bed so she could rest. Then I went back upstairs and pulled out the flash-drive. Something was on it, something HUGE. But when you're standing in an exploding building, there's really no time to check it out thoroughly.

Going into this, the bad feeling I had just got worse.

I plugged the USB into the computer and watched as codes, thousands of codes, appeared and disappeared. Then the outline of a program appeared on the screen. Dimwit had a program on this thing? That wasn't very bright. A program shouldn't have been small enough to fit on one of these; several codes would have to be missing or removed.

I tapped the screen where the program's outline glowed bright white. Something flashed. "Oh no…"

The program's feet started to form on the floor, followed by their legs, body, arms and head. Their circuits flashed white, then orange, then white again; they stayed white this time. I tapped my watch as the program opened his eyes, my clothes vanishing under my suit. The lights on mine almost looked foreign from not wearing it.

The program had white "tattoos" covering his face, very familiar ones at that. Considering who it was, it made sense that he fit on the flash-drive. And he looked evil; I could feel that something wasn't right about him. I didn't even have to know who he was. "Hello."

The program smirked and pulled his disc off his back. "Do I know you?"

Rude lunatic. What else would anyone expect Dimwit to create? This program was sick, twisted, insane, crazy, creepy, and the list just went on and on. "No." I pulled off my own and tapped my watch again. "But I know who you are."

"Yeah right," the program laughed, relaxing-

big mistake.

I tackled him, pinning him to the floor. My turn to laugh. "I thought TRON would've trained you better…" This was gonna be fun, seeing how he reacted to this. "Cy."

* * *

This… was… getting… old… FAST!

Cyrus was good; I'd give him that much. He'd landed several good hits (I wasn't sure if I'd be able to eat anything for a while) on my stomach. My head hurt, and I had the watch switched ON. This guy could fight.

But he couldn't think straight to save his life.

Between dodging punches and throwing some of my own, everything started making sense… sort of.

Dimwit, good Lord knows how he managed it, created a program. Well, he definitely took after his user-

both were crazy and both were insane.

Blocked another punch. Dodged another kick. Avoided a fist headed for my face. "Knock it off!" I said as loud as I dared to. Skigh, somehow through this racket, was still sleeping. It was better for her not to get involved.

Cyrus wasn't letting up, and I didn't expect him to. "No!"

I gasped as he managed to land another hit. Tron, did you have to train this guy so well?! Hopefully Beck would manage to stay sane. I wouldn't want to end up fighting for my life against him.

We'd been at this for over an hour, and we were getting no where. I couldn't reason with this guy. I couldn't talk to him at all. I was lucky if I landed any punches or kicks.

I'd be lucky if I made it out of this without a boatload of bruises. (Still trying to master the vocab around here.)

Did Dimwit program Cyrus to be sadistic? Did he write him to be insane? To be a killer?

For some reason, as I tackled him and flipped the couch over, I wondered how someone who had saved Tron's life could become so twisted. There had to be a way to end this-

NOW, before I lost a limb… or my life.

Our discs collided again, sparks flying. I moved so my knee was in his chest, trying to level the playing field some. If I could just trap him-

Compressed space.

I glanced back at the computer, smirking as I saw the flash-drive still plugged in. "Not quite on the Grid, but close."

Cyrus threw me off him and we rolled across the floor. I managed to punch him in the nose (not exactly where I was aiming, but close enough). I winced as I was slammed against the wall, right under the computer.

"WHO ARE YOU?!" Cyrus screamed. Man, some duct tape would've been useful right about now. I ducked again as his fist slammed into the wall, just missing my face. Seriously, how was Skigh sleeping through this whole confrontation?!

I reached up and tapped the screen, not sure what I'd hit. Something started beeping, so I guessed I'd hit a button-

and then I grinned.

First his hands, then his arms and body, and then his legs and head. Cyrus' whole body transformed into little blue lines. The lines flashed orange again for a second and then he disappeared.

I tapped my watch, my suit disappearing, replaced by my clothes. I smirked. "Well, it IS compressed space," I mumbled as I tapped the flash-drive. Maybe this prison would hold Cyrus better than the first one.

I sighed as I looked around at the destroyed living space. "Time to pick this up…"


	18. Chapter 17

(Skigh's POV)

"And in other news, the REVOLUTION building is being investigated. The authorities are saying that the security cameras were destroyed in the-"

Changed the channel.

"No casualties were reported in the REVOLUTION explosion yesterday. Only four were injured, including two camera men and Skigh and Mc-"

Pressed the button again and sighed.

Here we are outside the remains of REVOLUTION. As you can see behind me, the cops have been digging for clues as to what provoked the attack. According to witnesses, Skigh Ryker had the worst injuries, a sprained wrist and twisted ankle. She was pulled from the rubble, but not by the cops..."

I frowned and leaned forward on the couch. This anchor's low-cut neon green suit wasn't what had me interested. Far from it. My hand and wrist still throbbed; the wrap covering my arm was itchy, and I was surprised I hadn't scratched my arm off by now.

"Somehow, McKian Karson, Uprising's new co-host, managed to evade security and found Skigh trapped under debris in the lobby. He has not commented on this, completely avoiding the press on this topic." The station played footage of McKian pushing his way through the reporters, ignoring them. Considering he'd knocked a mic out of someone's hand, he did pretty well.

I pressed the mute button, wincing as I used the wrong hand for it. Mac had pulled me out, Mac had saved me-

and he lied about it.

The room felt twenty degrees colder as I fell back on the couch, shaking. Maybe he didn't want to tell me? Maybe he just didn't think it was important?

I pushed myself up from the couch and walked- more like limped over- to the computer and tapped at the little black flash-drive still plugged in. I pulled it out and re-inserted it, waiting for codes to appear and reveal what secrets, if any, it held.

Nothing.

"Guess Dimwit didn't have anything on Mac," I mumbled, pulling the flash-drive out. I decided to limp down stairs (hopefully, something would happen on the Grid- I needed some excitement that didn't involve my life or family.) Finally reaching the kitchen, I tossed the flash-drive into the trash can, watching as it fell through the crumpled papers, plastic baggies and chocolate bar wrappers. (Apparently, that was all Mac would eat. He said it calmed him down? I don't even know anymore…)

Coming back up the stairs with a cold bottle of water, and starting to regret not installing a hand rail, I thought I saw the computer screen flash. I walked over to it and shrugged. Everything looked normal; maybe I was just out of it from yesterday. I flopped down on the couch and tried to twist off the cap on my water bottle. "Blasted thing," I muttered, wishing I could rip the bandages off my hand already. Switching hands proved to be no better. I was just too weak to open it. "Maybe I hit my head…" I turned the TV back on and sighed as more footage from the explosion came up.

This reporter looked competent; grey overcoat, black hair spiky and green eyes. "The miracle behind the explosions here is that no one was killed. Behind me, the majority of the building is still standing. The reason for the building's destruction is unknown.

The next part was new to me. "However, Alex Ryker has been the first to speak on the issue saying, and I quote, 'This is probably the result of a death threat, considering how many we've received.' Now, as everyone knows, the station's show Uprising is the part of the company receiving the death threats. After this, the company may be canceling Uprising-"

"And we are."

I turned and saw Alex standing there, arms crossed, eyes little grey slits.

"What?" I stood up quickly, muting the television and wincing as I put too much weight on my bad leg. "How can you-"

"The board voted, Skigh."

I frowned at him and said, quietly, "Ian didn't vote to cancel."

"No," Alex answered harshly, shaking his head. I shivered as his voice mirrored that of the head of the orphanage from two years ago. "But everyone else did. And the majority wins."

I'd had enough. "I know why you canned Uprising. And," I stopped for a second, trying to control my temper, "it's not because of the death threats."

"Then why'd we cancel the show? I'm interested now." Alex smirked and stuck his hands in his green coat pockets.

"You don't like McKian. You see him as a threat. The explosions are dead to you. You can overlook them, I know you can. But Mac? Oh no, dear brother Alex here can't get past the fact that McKian isn't a threat!"

Alex's face turned red. "What's gotten into you?! You're not the same kid who used to be-"

"What? Scared of everyone? Scared that I'd get beat up all the time? You're right- I've changed. But so have you! You used to be nice. You used to care about giving others second chances. What happened to the old Alex, the one I looked up to because he saved my life? Where did HE go?!"

He was shaking with anger now. "How dare you!"

"Seriously, Alex! This guy standing here in front of me isn't the same guy who saved me. My brother is gone. All that's left is a monster!"

Brothers and sisters fight. That's a known fact. But this fight was more than that. And Alex proved it.

"I am NOT a MONSTER!" Alex screamed at the top of his lungs. His arm came up and his fist shot out-

I grabbed his hand, wincing as I realized I'd used the one with the sprained wrist. "Who are you?!"

"Your brother!"

"No, you may be a lot of things, but right now, you are NOT my brother!"

Alex pulled away. "The decision is final. The show is cancelled."

I smirked. "You can cancel it all you want. I'll still fight."

"Good luck with that."

I watched as Alex walked away. I smiled. "Just watch me…"

…

Alex may be business-smart. Alex may be money-smart.

But dear old Alex isn't Skigh-smart.

I pulled my cell phone out of my jeans pocket and fell back on the couch (man, I was abusing this thing!) My grey sweatshirt had covered the wrapping on my arm in little fuzzies, and now they were sticking to my phone. Turned it on. Found Matt's number and hit "send".

"Hello?"

I grinned. Someone was sleepy. "It's me."

"Hey, Skigh. Whazzup?" Yeesh, Matt sounded tired.

"You remember that project I had you working on?

Matt paused before finally answering, "Yeah."

"Find anything?"

"Yeah…" Matt yawned. "One in Pennsylvania."

Hmm… "That could work. You have pictures or descriptions?"

"A couple. I'll email them to you." Matt yawned again.

I brushed a couple of fuzzies off my phone and smirked. "Thanks, Matt. By the way, you might want to find another job while you're at it."

"You're not serious! Ian wouldn't-"

"Out-voted, Matt," I said, punching the couch. "He was overruled and now we're done."

Matt sighed. "Great… so much for paying my rent!"

My turn to sigh. "I'm sorry, Matt. I wish there was another-" I jumped up, ignoring the fire burning in my ankle from the sudden movement. "Hey, Matt?"

"Yep? Still here."

I laughed. "I have an idea…"

* * *

:)


	19. Chapter 18

(Mac's POV)

"From now on, we protect each other."

I smirked. This feeling, this moment, was so hard to put into words- at least understandable words.

Thrilling.

Relief.

Fear.

Shock.

Awe.

It was so unbelievable. It wasn't real; it couldn't be!

It was so surreal. And standing there, disc at the ready, energy pulsing inside me, this felt so right.

"Tell your boss we're done letting one program fight all our battles."

Looking away from Mara (who was really ticking off Pavel) I glanced over my shoulder, the Renegade standing on top of what used to be a mobile repurposing unit. The black and yellow wreckage glowed around him, making him look even stronger than he was. Who would have believed that Beck was under that suit? Not like he wouldn't have been- it was just the whole "T" on his chest. It seemed like Tron should really be the one behind the mask. After what happened inside that thing with the whole "interrupting the repurposing" thing, Tron might be the one behind the mask more...

Standing with everyone who worked at the garage, I felt more relaxed than I had in, well, a long time.

…

The workers had dispersed, going back to the garage. But Beck didn't. And neither did Tron. Peeking out from behind the piles of wreckage, I couldn't help but stare at where his scar used to be. Now that it was gone, he looked different.

Again, not a bad thing. I was just used to the scar being there.

I looked up at the sky. This was good! The uprising, as Tron had just said seconds ago, had begun!

Maybe things would be getting better now-

Something dark was drifting through the skies. I frowned as the orange lights lining it came into focus.

And then more lights. And more lights. And more orange lights.

And one yellow set of lights.

"CLU…" I glared at the ship, watching as it came closer to Argon.

Maybe things would be getting worse before they got better…

* * *

"Yeah… yes…. S-K-I-G-H… no, it's 'mid', then 'knight', like the Dark Knight… yes. Um, August twenty-eighth… no, I do not have a criminal record… okay… yes… no… 426-55- yes, that is my phone number… okay, that works… yes, skigh786 is correct… okay, thanks! Yep, goodbye."

I grinned as she sighed and threw her phone onto the couch. "Well? How'd that go?"

Skigh rolled her eyes. "Good. We have the permits. And by the end of the month, we'll be in Pennsylvania."

I sat down on the couch, moving her phone so I wouldn't sit on it. "So Matt's coming, too?"

Skigh nodded. "This is gonna be fun. Uprising was just a precursor to this, to all of this. It'll give us the publicity."

"You just bought an old auditorium."

She smiled. "Yep."

I frowned. "You aren't making any sense."

"I know." She laughed. "Let's just say that Uprising will be coming back, bigger and better than the first time. And with less stress, I hope."

I grinned. "So, no exploding buildings?"

"Hopefully. You know," she stopped and looked up at me. "The uprising has begun."

My smile got bigger. "You have no idea."

* * *

Packing was easy; Skigh and I didn't have too much in here.

But the computer was a different story.

Skigh sighed. "How are we gonna get this thing to Pennsylvania? It's not like we can just carry ten tons of computer out of here."

I tapped the screen on my watch and typed in a few commands. "Maybe we can…"

"Good luck lifting that thing, Mac." She laughed. "Wait, can that watch-thingy turn you into Hercules?"

I bit my lip. "Uh…" I did not know how to respond to that. "I, uh… don't think so."

Walking over to the screen, I tapped it and watched as it lit up. I turned my watch screen so it faced the computer screen and what looked like blue and green lightning raced between the two screens. I felt the heat and energy run through my body as the computer's codes merged with mine. Now, later on, I could rezz up the computer's original mainframe in Pennsylvania and leave a copy here.

Skigh shook her head as the merge stopped, the lightning fading. "Wow… maybe you CAN carry that thing out of here."

…

"So, who drives which car?"

Skigh hung her head. "The only one that's truly mine is the Roadster." She motioned to the car with the thin green and blues lights racing over the edges. "Alex owns the Lamborghini and the Bugatti."

Matt hand his hands over the car. "Man, this thing's loaded! But, uh, where's the hook-up for the U-Haul?" (Yeah, like I said, there wasn't much to pack up.)

Skigh smirked. "Like you said, it's loaded."

…

"Owl City, Toby Mac, Owl City- I don't even KNOW who this is- Owl City," Matt sighed. "You love Owl City, don't you?"

"Yes." Skigh flipped on the turn signal. "Don't you know that by now?"

Matt grinned. "Well, I knew that, but, well, I didn't know you liked them that much."

"I don't like them."

Matt gasped. "What?!"

Skigh laughed. "As you said before, I LOVE Owl City! And, besides, it's one guy."

"Wow… obsess much?"

Skigh reached into the back seat and punched Matt. "Hey!"

We all started laughing.

"Just give me the CD," Skigh said, grabbing at the disc. She put in the player and turned up the volume. She skipped to track nine and smiled.

**"You would not believe your eyes if ten million fireflies lit up the world as I fell asleep…"**

I looked over at Skigh; she started relaxing.

**"You'd think me rude but I would just stand and stare…"**

Matt laughed and started singing along. He didn't sound too bad. But how would I know if he was singing right?

**"I'd like to make myself believe that planet earth turns slowly. It's hard to say I'd rather stay awake when I'm asleep, 'cause everything is never as it seems…"**

Okay, now Matt sounded bad.

**"A fox trot above my head, a sock hop beneath my bed, the disco ball is just hanging by a thread…"**

Skigh laughed. "Dude, quit killing the song!"

**"Leave my door open just a crack (please take me away from here) 'cause I feel like such an insomniac (please take me away from here). Why do I tire of counting sheep (please take me away from here) when I'm far too tired to fall asleep?"**

This song… something about it… it calmed down Skigh like nothing else ever could.

**"To ten million fireflies, I'm weird 'cause I hate good-byes. I got misty eyes as they said farewell. But I'll know where several are, if my dreams get real bizarre, 'cause I saved a few and I keep them in a jar…"**

Matt started humming this time. And he didn't sound so bad.

The music got quieter. I smiled as the words repeated.

**"It's hard to say I'd rather stay awake when I'm asleep, because my dreams are bursting at the seams…"**

* * *

_-Lyrics from Owl City "Fireflies"_


	20. Chapter 19

**PART THREE: THE PARADIGM**

**"We are the generation, we've got a reputation- it's time to lead the way. We are the motivation, just got to activate it- there is no time to wait..." -Capital Kings**

* * *

(Skigh's POV)

"No splashing! The sign says!"

Matt laughed. "Okay, so I can't do THIS?" He swung his arm and the water went flying, tons of it. I held my breath as I got soaked again.

As soon as I got my breath back, I shook my head. "ESPECIALLY NOT THAT!"

Matt started the process of laughing his head off. I laughed a little too, but was still conscious of how odd I felt.

There were things that a swim suit couldn't hide. My scars happened to be among them. The green ruffles on the wide straps didn't even come down far enough to cover the one on my left arm. And I didn't want Mac to notice just yet-

"He's not going to care."

I jumped as Matt touched my arm. "How do you know he won't? Everyone else does!"

Matt patted my arm, his fingers running over the scar; I could feel the damaged flesh start tingling and burning. "He won't, Skigh. Just trust me, okay?"

I tried to smile at him as I looked up at his hazel eyes. "Okay."

And- I did NOT see this coming in this setting- Matt pulled me up against his bare chest and hugged me. "You gotta let it go."

The water sloshed around us as I hugged him back. It was nothing, just two friends; and one of them needed comforting.

Me, sadly.

Matt rubbed my back. "Have you told him?"

"What do you think?" I swallowed the lump in my throat, feeling queasy as the blue water splashed against my waist.

Matt pulled me away, his hands on my arms. His grip… man, I never knew camera/tech expert Matt was this strong. But he was gentle, not nasty and gruff about it. "Look, we're here for a week. Just relax and enjoy it, okay? " His solemn expression fell away, replaced by his usual smile. "And why in the world did we drive down to Delaware when we're supposed to be in Pennsylvania, which is ABOVE us?"

I grinned, this time not forcing it to happen. "We can take our time with that. I think we just need to block out REVOLUTION and Uprising and start with a clean slate."

"Sounds good." Matt let go of me completely and fell back into the water, his some-what short frame falling to the bottom of the six foot deep area. I laughed as the water flew, drenching me again.

Time to relax.

…

We'd been at the pool for over an hour now. I climbed out and slipped on my flip-flops. "If Mac shows up, tell him I'll be right out."

"Got it." Matt pinched his nose and sank under the water.

I grabbed a towel and turned the door handle for the bathroom. The water dripping off my feet caused my flip-flops to squeak as I closed the door and fell back against it.

A full length mirror was plastered against the fall, red rose- colored wall. I stared at my reflection, not daring to believe that I looked like, well, like I did.

My longer hair hung in dripping strands; the pool water probably took out even more of the blue dye. My swim suit almost matched my partially dyed hair. It was aqua, except for the green ruffles on the sleeves and the skirt-like bottom. I sighed, looked at how I'd changed. Alex always said I was pretty, but I never really believed him. I guess I kinda was.

In the last two years, I'd grown a little, emphasis on the "little" part. I was still pretty short, almost average height, but still short. My skin wasn't as pale; it was darker, and it didn't make me look so isolated. I was still pretty small as far as my weight went.

I looked down at the pool of water surrounding my feet. "Time to forget it… or at least try." So many incidents, so many close calls with death…

I had been able to forgive; I'd forgiven them even while I was there- that was all that kept me going. That was all that kept me believing that there would be brighter days ahead.

But forgetting?

I was scarred, and not just because of the deep, muddy grooves on my arm and hands )not to mention various other scars elsewhere). There was no way to rid my mind of the nightmares that haunted me in my sleep. I'd get them under control, only to discover they were coming back even stronger, with a vengeance unlike any other.

Reaching up, I rubbed my right hand over my upper left arm. The scar didn't feel right. It almost felt like, well, like it should've just vanished and left no blemish on my skin. It seemed like the cuts on my body should've just, each and every one of them, just disappeared.

Had I asked for them?

No.

Had I asked for the emotional toll that they'd take on me?

No.

Had I ever wanted to be the kid who wished they could hide from the world?

No.

I hadn't asked for this. But maybe there was a reason why… I just had to find it. God has a reason for everything. I sighed and smiled, wishing that He could just clear up a little bit, a small fraction, of the confusion in my life.

But not now. Now I was taking a break from the pressures of life.

Right now, I was relaxing and ignoring the past, ignoring the first fourteen and a half years of my life. Ignoring the fact that my scars were never leaving my skin. Ignoring the fact that I never learned…

Not even about to finish that thought.

I wasn't thinking about it.

As I reached for the door handle I looked down at my foot and hand that were injured in the explosion at REVOLUTION. The bandages were gone, but the pain was still there, just very faint.

Maybe that's how I'd be for the rest of my life; able to look past the injury, but still feel the pain behind it, just not as strong. I'd be able to forgive, just never fully forget.

And I was okay with that.

I twisted the handle, feeling it squeak under my grasp. Maybe God had just cleared up some of my confusion.

Stepping out of the bathroom, I noticed that McKian had come down from the hotel room. He had on a blue t-shirt and his black swim trunks (thank you, Matt, for buying him a pair exactly like yours…).

Matt smiled and splashed him. McKian ducked. "Hey!" Mac laughed and splashed him back.

"If you're gonna get it, you probably need to get rid of the shirt," Matt said, thumping on the side of his ear. "You don't want it to get wet."

McKian shrugged. "Okay." Still standing knee-high in the water, he pulled his shirt up and over his head, revealing more of the "tattoos". His skin tone over all had improved, getting a little darker. He threw his shirt onto one of the sand-colored chairs.

Matt turned around. "Hey, there she is!"

I grinned. "Hey, guys." Kicked off my shoes and sat on the edge of the pool. The water, from not being in it, was now cold. I shivered as I jumped in.

McKian smiled. This guy had been acting weird lately. It was almost like…

No, that was stupid. He wouldn't feel that way, he wouldn't be thinking that-

or would he?

Mac and Matt started trying to see who was the faster swimmer. I wasn't even sure that Mac could swim, but as soon as he was fully in the water, it was obvious he could. I glanced at the watch.

Off.

I sighed and leaned against the edge of the pool, not thinking about the past, just focusing on the future.

…

"Good luck fitting that thing in your mouth."

Matt glared, then grinned. "Just watch me. Now that you said that, I'll be able to shove this whole thing into my mouth."

"More like into your face."

Some unidentified flying french fries whacked me in the face. All three of us started laughing.

Sitting in the middle of a mall food court and laughing our heads off… if you couldn't tell, I was so scared of the media getting on my case.

McKian started to eat his piece of pizza, then stopped and stared at Matt. "You're not serious…"

I quickly swallowed my mouthful of Coke so I wouldn't burst out laughing.

Matt had shoved half of the burger into his mouth. Now, honest to God, that thing was the size of his head. The meat was hidden under all the ketchup, mustard, mayo, bacon, cheese, lettuce and something unidentifiable. I couldn't digest that if I tried. What did Matt have for a stomach? A garbage disposal?

He shook his head. Mac and I started laughing as Matt bit down and pried the burger out of his mouth. "Yeah, I think I have to go about this differently."

"You think?"I pushed his Sprite closer to him and he took a long sip. "Dude, that thing won't fit in your stomach PERIOD. And if it does, I don't think you'll be digesting it any time soon."

Mac nudged me. "I couldn't even eat that!" And this coming from a guy who'd eaten a whole tube of toothpaste. (Yeah, he smelled like mint for a week.)

Matt punched the table and smirked. "Really? I've seen what you eat!"

We all started laughing again, not caring who was watching us.

…

The beds in the hotel room were, well, beds.

The mattress was so soft; I thought I was going to fall through it.

I glanced over at the first bed. Mac was sprawled out, laying on his stomach. His tall frame almost didn't fit on the bed; his bare feet already dangled over the red blankets. Already, he'd nearly whacked the thermostat on the wall by his bed.

Matt was hiding under the covers, his head under all four of his pillows.

And me?

Well, the beds were too soft for me, so I was comfortably laying on the pull-out couch. I was so used to sleeping on beds that weren't that soft; even the ones that Alex had were pretty rock-solid. Something about better posture or health…? Dah, I couldn't have cared less. It was a bed, and it was better than the first fourteen years. Anyone like a turn on the floor?

I looked up at the ceiling. Little specs of light from the parking lot were getting through the crack in the curtains. I smiled and rolled over onto my stomach.

Good night.

...

**"Welcome back winter once again, and put on your warm fuzzy sweater 'cause you'll feel much better when the snowflakes fall gently to the ground, the temperature drops and your shivers freeze all the rivers around, but I keep you warm..."**

I smiled and pressed my face into my pillow. Another sleepless night. Yeah, totally loving the whole insomnia thing.

**"If speed's a pro, inertia must be a con, 'cause the cold wind blows at precise rates when I've got my ice skates on. If all the roads were paved with ice that wouldn't thaw or crack, I could skate from Maine to Nebraska, then on to Alaska and back 'cause you keep me warm..."**

Lullaby, and good night. There's no possible way I'll sleep tonight.

**"Peer over the edge, 'Can you see me?' Rivulets flow from your eyes. Paint runs from your mouth like a waterfall and your lungs crystallize. I'll travel the sub-zero tundra- I'll brave glaciers and frozen lakes. And that's just the tip of the iceberg- I'll do whatever it takes to change..."**

Leave it to me to be listening to a sound with lyrics in it about stuff that's freezing cold in February. (Acutally here, in Delaware and part of the east coast felt like spring, with temperatures of over seventy. Weird...)

**"Farewell, powdery paradise. We'd rather skate on the thinnest ice. Our fingers failed us before they froze. And frostbite bit down on all our toes... "**

Finally, I started feeling tired. Leaving in my headphones and rolling onto my side, I closed my eyes and hoped the I'd sleep this time and stay asleep until morning. I yawned and pulled up the covers.

** "Snowdrifts build up and enfold us as we wait out this winter storm. So we snuggle close in the darkness, and keep each other so warm..."**

* * *

_-Lyrics from Owl City "The Tip of the Iceberg"_

_:)_


	21. Chapter 20

(Skigh's POV)

I was still laying in bed, same night (though it felt like years had gone by), same place for hours on end. I'd almost fallen asleep; I woke up when I started re-living Dimwit falling to his death.

Grabbing my iPod, I turned it on and sighed. There was no sleep for me, since it was almost five in the morning. I pushed the blue squishy ear-buds into my ears and chewed on my lower lip, exhausted.

** "… 'cause I'm still seeking, though I've learned to hide so well. And I can still remember how it felt…"**

THIS song. Good song. But not what I needed right now. The lyrics wanted me to THINK. And Matt wanted me NOT to THINK.

** "…And then you caught me by surprise. I found my tears are in your eyes…"**

I skipped to the next song and smiled. THIS was more like it.

** "There's something better I can give. If you surrender, you will live. Just gotta taste and see it's good. I'd make you see it if I could. It's gonna save your life…"**

Definitely better.

Not thinking.

Not caring.

Just listening.

...

"I'm getting more eggs."

I rolled my eyes. "Matt, if you eat anymore, you'll burst."

Mac covered his mouth as he started laughing (it was more like a tired chuckle or something). "I thought the first four plates would make you explode."

I kept looking around the lobby and breakfast area. Lots of red carpeting, gold and blue walls, three massive chandeliers that I thought would fall on my head if I walked under them-

"Hey!" Matt punched Mac's arm. "Not cool, man! Not cool!"

McKian grinned, then started rubbing his arm as Matt went up to the breakfast station again. "I think they're going to have to ban him from coming up again."

"Well, what else would you expect after he inhaled the pancakes, wolfed down the bacon, took almost all the eggs and shoved four donuts in his face?"

McKian laughed. "Has he always eaten like this?"

"At work?" I shrugged. "Sometimes. I think he's just hungry. I don't think he ate too much after the building blew up."

"Hey, how're you doing after that anyway?"

Shrugged again. "I'm okay."

Mac nodded and left it at that.

* * *

Once again, at the pool.

The three-day east coast heat wave had died, leaving the temperatures barely above freezing.

"Didn't you bring your iPod down?"

I smirked and threw the ball at Matt's head. The brightly colored beach ball bounced off his head and landed on the blue tiles. "Yeah. What playlist?"

"Hm, you got TobyMac on there?"

I nodded and ducked as Matt threw the ball my way. He put his hands on his hips under the water and said, "I thought the whole concept of throwing around a ball was to, um, I don't know, catch it?"

"And like you caught it the last time?" I smiled and dried off my hands before turning on my iPod.

Mac was still sitting on the steps leading into the pool, water barely above his ankles. "Yeah, Matt, maybe you could catch the ball with your face!"

We all burst out laughing. Matt, recovering the fastest, pointed his dripping finger at McKian. "You, sir, you are getting the hang of this! I mean really-"

"Matt!" I cut him off.

Matt shrugged. "What? What'd I…" I pointed up at the ceiling and he noticed. He stopped talking and followed my hand up to the black sphere plastered to the ceiling. "Oh, that." He bit his lip. "Sorry. I didn't know that was there."

"It's fine. That thing probably doesn't even work- it's not lit up. One slip won't be enough for anyone. Just watch it in public, okay?"

Matt nodded, relaxing. "Man am I stupid…" He smacked himself in the forehead.

Mac grabbed the beach ball and threw it at Matt, whacking him in the chest. "You say that again and the beach ball won't be hitting you."

Matt rolled his eyes and slowly grinned. "Okay, not stupid."

I turned on the tiny speaker and sighed. "It's dead."

"What is? My brain?" Matt swam over to the edge and pushed himself up to sit on the side of the pool.

"No, genius. The iPod." I tapped his arm with my foot; Matt let go of the ledge and fell beneath the surface. "Guess the radio will have to do."

Matt shot up from under the water, soaking me again. "Well, they're playing TobyMac, so it'll do."

For the next hour, we acted like total goofballs. There was no rhyme or reason to anything we did. McKian wasn't tense. Matt wasn't tense.

And I wasn't tense.

It was just relaxing, just a break from life.

And then-

"Oh my WORD! Oh my word, oh my word, oh my word!" Someone was screaming. Yay…

Matt looked around. "Is there an echo in here?"

Three kids, probably all about thirteen ran into the pool area, two boys and one girl. "OH MY WORD!" the girl screamed again.

McKian sighed. "Nope. That's not an echo." He dove under the water and swam to the other side of the pool far from the screaming kid.

The two boys (identical twins with brown hair and eyes and tan skin) smiled. "You're not Skigh… are you?" the one asked, crossing his arms.

I smiled and folded my arms over my chest, mimicking him. "Yes, I am Skigh."

"No you're not," the other boy countered, crossing his arms too.

Matt shook his head. "Wow… you two must have really thick skulls."

The girl's stare left me, shifting the the wet figure at the other end of the pool. "Is that- OH MY WORD! MCKIAN KARSON!

I sighed. I'm fine with fans, but Mac? This was going to be interesting…

The boys looked at each other. Their movements were so identical- it was freaky to watch them I guessed that the screaming brown-haired, brown-eyed girl was their sister. "You ARE Skigh, aren't you?" And now they were talking at the same time. That was not helping.

I nodded. "Yeah…" I looked at the girl, wondering what she wanted. The pen and notebook in her hand kinda give it away. "You, uh, you want an autograph?"

"Oh my word YES!" She jumped up and down and started screaming again. I looked over my shoulder to see Matt go under the water and swim over to Mac.

Taking the notebook from her, I signed my name. "There you go. And, um," this was really wishful thinking, but where there was one fan, there was bound to be more. "Could you do something for me?"

The three all nodded in sync. Possibly looking at triplets here?

"I would do ANYTHING, absolutely ANYTHING for you!" the girl's voice came out higher than I ever thought any human voice could go. Talk about obsessed. As long as the message got through to her, I could tolerate the screaming, yelling, squealing, shouting, squeaking- call it what you will.

"Don't tell anyone else we're here, okay?

Nodded again.

The girl smiled and squealed, "We won't tell! We promise!"

After screaming some more, her brothers got her to leave. I sighed. "I've had worse encounters. That wasn't too bad."

McKian laughed as Matt groaned and massaged his temples. "Speak for yourself. Anyone got any Aspirin?"

This was definitely going to be interesting.

…

"Stop it! STOP IT!"

I never remembered laughing so hard in my life.

Matt and Mac were sitting on the one bed. And I had made the mistake of walking past them. Now I was laying on the bed with Matt holding down my left arm and McKian my right. I punched Matt in the arm originally, my green long sleeve night shirt making my aim and the force of the blow terrible.

Matt smirked. "I'm getting back at you for that punch!" He put his knee over my arm and started tickling my side.

I laughed, squirming and kicking. "You better stop!" I forced out, barely breathing.

Mac grinned, looking at Matt. "What do I do?"

I glared at Matt. "Don't you dare-" I managed to get out, still struggling to breathe and still laughing.

Matt nodded, his cocky smile getting wider as he started tickling me again.

McKian caught on to what Matt meant- lucky me -and started tickling my other side. My chest hurt from laughing, I was barely breathing-

I was having fun.

I didn't feel them stop, but when I saw the two crazy guys above me lift their hands, I knew they were done. For the moment at least. Matt's dark face was red; so was Mac's pale one.

I'd been laughing so hard I was having a hard time getting my breath. Suddenly I was sitting up, Matt rubbing my back again, just like yesterday. "You okay?"

Nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine," I gasped, the pain and numbness in my side slowly fading. "I am getting back at you two for that! I don't know how or when, but I will!" I smiled at them.

I glanced at Mac, then stared. His green eyes were locked on my face. And his hand…

was wrapped around my numbed one.

He did feel that way. He felt-

He felt the same way I did?!

Before either of us could say anything, Matt flipped me back down on the bed. He covered my mouth with his hand and asked, "Round two?"

I growled at him, the only sound I could manage with his hand over my mouth.

Matt sighed. "Fine. I'm getting a shower." He let go of me and walked over to the bathroom, disappearing behind the door.

McKian knelt by my side on the bed. "I'm still here."

I smirked. "You're gonna risk Round Two on your own?"

Mac gently grabbed my arms and pulled me up. "No," Mac looked into my eyes again, his voice almost inaudible. "I-I don't want to hurt you, Skigh."

I jumped. "What? Tickling someone doesn't hurt them."

"I don't wanna risk it."

Leave it to McKian to be the sweetest guy in the world.

* * *

_-Lyrics from Michael W. Smith "Everybody Free" and Newsboys "Save Your Life"_


	22. Chapter 21

(Skigh's POV)

"I think that's an important thing. I've never set out to inject a definitive amount of that, in terms of my faith and my beliefs, but I've wanted to make sure that I never hid the fact that I am a person of faith..."

This review was pretty good. I probably would've been able to appreciate it more if it wasn't four thirty- two in the morning. Yawning, I adjusted the tiny flashlight under my arm and went back to reading the response to the question.

"… I am a Christian. And I think it would be a crime if I were to leave that out because it's such a part of who I am, and it's such a big reason why I do what I do. At the end of the day, I just want to make sure that I'm giving credit where credit is due and being a good reflection of where all this is coming from…"

Another good review for Owl City. I kept reading

"… I want to be a good steward of this life I've been given, because it's truly not mine.

* * *

There's one thing I've always hated in hotels.

Televisions in the lobby…

This flat screen the size of Manhattan was now in the hands of a six year old; the small, red-haired boy had the remote.

Great.

So, as the three of us were trying to eat in piece, my blue hat flipped the right direction (I usually wore it off to the side or backwards- yeah, girls usually buy boatloads of shoes; I buy caps), he kept changing the channel.

"Following the cancellation of Uprising, REVOLUTION has begun to rebuild their-"

"There's no doubting that President Rose is upset about Uprising being cancelled, as they were supporting him through and through-"

"ENCOM has replaced an anonymous board member after they refused to return calls for important company policies-"

I gasped. So no one knew about Dimwit. The world could find out on it's own. Glanced at McKian. He nodded slightly; he'd heard it, too.

The channel changed again. "President Nathan Rose's abortion ban policy has been passed through Congress. The win was almost unanimous, being another huge win for Rose. No word from former REVOLUTION TV show host Skigh Ryker or her co-host, McKian Karson on the matter. Tomorrow, the president will be speaking at th-"

The TV went off as the kid's mom came over and took the remote, said something to him (I don't feel like repeating it) and they left.

I sighed. So much for not thinking…

...

Blasted cell phone. Fishing the vibrating thing out of my pocket I glared at the number that was calling. "Great…" I really didn't need to talk to this particular person. "Hello?"

"Where are you?" Oh, yeah. Leave it to good old brother Alex. Thankfully, Mac and Matt had decided to go to the Chick-fil-A down the street and grab some food; I could talk to my brother, hopefully, without them walking in on this conversation.

"Delaware," I muttered. Hadn't I told him…? "I texted you and told you."

A crackling sigh echoed in my ear. "So, is McKian there?"

This wasn't going to go over well; it wouldn't even go over as well as a ton of bricks. "Yes." I didn't want to pull Matt into anything.

"He's THERE?! With YOU?!"

Okay, now who predicted that this wouldn't go over well? "Alex, just listen to-"

"No!" his banshee-screaming voice cut me off. "I don't even know who this guy is- no one does! And you're off in another state with a guy-"

My turn to cut him off. "Alex, it isn't that! He's a friend, nothing more." I winced as I said that. It wasn't a lie yet, emphasis on "yet".

"Yeah, sure. That's all he is Skigh. And," his angry voice now mocked me. "I hope you're coping with the loss of your show."

I rolled my eyes and calmly said, "I am. Goodbye, Alex."

Another static-filled sigh. "Goodbye, Skigh."

"I love you," I said back.

And another sigh. "Yeah, whatever."

He hung up.

* * *

"It's pouring outside!"

I nodded at Matt. "Yeah, that's why we're inside, inside a mall!"

We'd explored the whole thing by now, top to bottom, every floor, almost every store (there were a few I just didn't feel like going into- my clothes don't have "Aeropostale" plastered over the front, mainly because I don't like them) and now we'd circled the food court six times.

Nope, make that seven.

Matt was in the middle of finishing his fifth burger, and Mac? Well, McKian was trying to figure out how to drink his Coke Icee without getting a "head freeze" as he called it.

"Why is this thing so cold?" Mac asked, switching the cup from hand to hand to keep from freezing his hands too.

Matt rolled his eyes and laughed. "Dude," he said while chewing on his burger, "it's called an ICEE for a reason."

"Does it have to be so cold?"

I sighed and grinned. "Sorry, but yeah. That's how they make them."

McKian glared at the cup. "So stinking cold..."

I covered my mouth, hoping that I wasn't laughing too hard. Mac was mastering our vocab, alright. So far, no curse words had been branded into his brain... not yet anyway.

For the first time since, well, all day, I noticed out clothes. Matt had on a black shirt and blue jeans, his grey Converse finally drying from walking through the parking lot. Mac had on an orange t-shirt (we'd finally conquered his fear of the color) and blue jeans, and his black his Nike hightops (Christmas present from Ian; I think it was considered a raise or something...?) And I had on...

orange t-shirt, grey striped hoodie and blue jeans... and my black pair of sneakers. (The only pair of shoes- aside from flip-flops that I'd bought at Wal-Mart- that I had taken from the old "mountain" house. McKian had only taken one pair, too; his Nikes. And one pair of solid shoes and one pair of cheap ones was enough to function with.)

McKian walked away to throw out his cup and the remnants of frozen Coke floating at the bottom. As soon as he was out of earshot, I grabbed Matt's arm. "Did you pick out his clothes today?" I whispered in his ear.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "He picked them out today. He's doing better with tying his shoes, but he still plays with his socks like a, like a-"

"Little kitten?"

Matt snapped his fingers. "Yeah! He was batting them around like they were a ball of yarn. So far, that's the only thing that's a little weird about him."

Looking back on this minute in my life, I can't believe that I said this:

"I think it's kinda cute."

And, dear good God, I had no idea where that came from. Where I could usually control whatever came out of my mouth, right now I couldn't!

Matt grinned. "What did you say?"

"Nothing. I didn't say anything," my voice shook as I forced that out, carefully weighing every single syllable that came out.

I looked away from Matt as his grin got wider. "Come on. You can confide in your dear friend Matthew."

"Is that really your name?"

Matt shrugged. "No. Sounded cool, though, so I- don't change the subject here!"

"Fine, I said it," I admitted, watching as Mac stopped to tie his shoe."Whaddya gonna do now, tell him?"

"Nope. I'm letting everything take it's course and not interfering."

I smirked and punched him in the shoulder. "So I'm guessing that's Matt-Speak for 'ultimate interference?'"

"No comment."

* * *

_-The interview quotes are from an Owl City interview.  
_

_i really appreciate the reviews, guys! thanks! :)_


	23. Chapter 22

(Skigh's POV)

"I... can't... believe... we're... finally... done..."

Matt smiled. "Someone's tired."

I sat up on the grey leather couch and yawned. "Well, gee, we've only spent the last two months lugging tons of carpets in here, moving heavy furniture, repainting the stage, redoing these rooms-"

Matt shook his head. "And still nothing between you and Mac."

"We've been too busy for anything TO happen, genius," I muttered, falling back on the soft couch.

When we pulled up to the auditorium in February, the outside looked awesome; grey walls with black and red stripes on the bricks. But the inside... that needed some improvement. The black, fuzzy seats were still in excellent shape, but the stage wasn't. Three weeks later, the missing dark floorboards were replaced and the stage looked great.

Under the stage were four rooms. I took one, Matt and Mac shared one and the other two were just there; one was a bathroom, the other a living room/ kitchen. Every room was lined with metal walls, and only my room and the guys' room had windows.

Behind the auditorium stage was a sound booth and a dressing room. The sound room was completely gutted, so we bought new equipment. And a lot of it.

And finally, in early April, we were done.

Matt looked over at the refrigerator sitting right by the arm of the couch. "You want anything?"

"Sure. Doesn't matter." I tried sitting up again, but just fell back down. My bare feet slid up off the orange and yellow carpet and landed on the couch.

I watched as Matt opened the door to the stainless steel refrigerator and knelt down in front of it. "We've got lemonade, Coke, water, milk, cranberry juice, apple juice, and more water."

"Water sounds good." I closed my eyes and put my head back on the arm of the couch. I really felt like just passing out; we'd put the finishing touches on the stage, which included a black desk, a black carpet that was pretty smooth and black curtains.

Why all the black? Um… I wanna wait on that.

The one wall in the room was taken up by the computer; Mac had not only compacted it, but also improved it. Ordinarily, the computer looked like a TV screen surrounded in a silver wall with one blue button on the side. Press that button and we had a keyboard that "rezzed" up (thanks, McKian) and then we put in a password to access the computer. (He also duplicated it and put an even smaller one out on the stage.)

And Mac was in there- on the Grid. He hadn't been gone long. In fact, he'd only been-

"How are we marketing this?" Matt shocked me out of thinking, the thought processes in my brain short-circuiting. "And, may I ask, what are we marketing? You haven't told Mac or me anything about what's bouncing around in that noggin of yours."

I smiled weakly. Man, was I tired! Matt, stop asking questions when I'm ready to fall to the floor in a heap! "I don't want to say yet."

"Come on! If we're helping you with this, we have to know what we're helping with!" Matt handed me a bottle of water.

"Okay, okay." This was going to come out terrible, mainly because I didn't even know the full extent of what I was supposed to be doing! Yeah, sure, I'd worked out the majority of it... in my head. And it sounded pretty good in my head. Maybe the Big Guy upstairs could help us out with this endeavor. "What do you think it is?"

Matt sighed. "Considering the equipment we bought, I'm starting to think you're resurrecting Uprising."

Okay, that was sort of it, like seventy-five percent it. "Keep going." Uprising was owned by REVOLUTION, so that name was out. I did have a few in mind, though.

"There's more?!" Matt threw his hands in the air. "Gee, I don't know!"

"Guess."

Matt crossed his arms. "Is twenty questions an option?"

"Nope."

Matt threw up his hands. "Next you'll be telling me that we're gonna-"

"Gonna what?" I was really needed to sleep, but I also needed to keep the nightmares at bay… for now.

"Gonna… hack into government computers."

I shook my head. No way. But that did sound cool.

"Gonna have your brother get involved?"

Nope.

"Talk to the president?"

Sounds cool, talking to President Nathan Rose, but no. Not it.

"Invest in cheerleaders."

Good God, no.

"Yeah, that one was out there… um, you're gonna throw a pie in Mac's face?"

THAT one was out there! "Where did that come from?!" Really, Matt? Really? What was THAT?!

"Hey, you've said no to everything so far! It was worth a shot."

"Yeah. It was a better shot than the cheerleader one." I opened the bottle and took a sip. "Keep guessing."

"You're gonna date Mac."

I rolled my eyes and took another sip. "I think you inhaled too many paint fumes," I muttered, pressing the cold plastic to my lips again. Yeesh...

Matt shook his head and flopped down on the couch. "I give up!"

"Okay."

"So, uh, what is it?"

I grinned. "What's what?"

"What are we doing? Man, I give up so you'll tell me and you still don't!"

I sighed and looked at him as he threatened me with, "Do we have to let Round Two commence?"

"I can't believe you still remember that."

Matt laughed. "You expect me to forget me and Mac holding you down and tickling you for fifteen minutes straight?"

"Fine." I sat a little higher on the couch, my back protesting every little movement. "Website, weekly episodes, music, Twitter link."

"You're basically creating your own TV channel, except on a website."

I nodded, realizing that I'd have to give in to having another nightmare sooner or later. Maybe this time I wouldn't end up screaming, or falling out of my bed, or needing an ice pack. "We're advertising to get an audience out there."

"Now everything's making sense," Matt commented. He frowned, staring at me. "You look shot. Are you sure you're okay?"

I nodded again, trying to keep my eyes open.

"No, you're not. Quit lying to me," Matt looked so stinking sympathetic. I wanted to punch him until he added, " Every time you lie to me, you usually end up falling flat on your face."

Couldn't argue with that one. Matt, stop being right! Argh…

"Come on," Matt said encouragingly as he grabbed my hands. "Up. Going to bed. Come on."

I couldn't stay standing. I was so tired that as soon as Matt had me on my feet, they couldn't support my weight. I fell against Matt. "Sorry, dude," I mumbled incoherently.

"That's it. I'm carrying you."

Matt was almost cradling me, his massive arms (the guy was only a few inches taller than me and his arms were HUGE!) holding me against his chest. I could feel my scars burning as he carried me to my room, kicked open the door and laid me on the bed. "You. Sleep. NOW."

I grinned. "Thanks, Matt. I'm r-really sorry…" my voice gave out as lightning struck in my stomach area.

Now, the media has no discretion. And when they played my life story repeatedly over the last two years, they covered every single little thing.

My vision blurred, I could still see Matt stiffen. He knew about it too- either that or he was really concerned. "You overdid it, didn't you?"

"Stuff had t-to get d-done," I managed to whisper.

Matt shook his head and grabbed a purple blanket. I felt it fall over me as Matt said, "You're resting. No use aggravating that injury."

BLAST IT ALL! "You k-know?" Oh, this was not good. Stupid whackos in the media!

"Yeah." I felt him tug on my shoes and pull them off. "I'm gonna have to tell Mac sooner or later."

"I-I'll settle f-for l-lat-later." I felt like dirt; there was no reason to deny that.

Matt sighed. "He has to know, Skigh. I'll tell him for you when he comes back, okay?"

Involuntarily, my eyes shut. I tried forcing them open. There was no way to protest as the darkness closed in and the last words I heard that night were these:

"I guess that's a 'yes' then. Sweet dreams, Skigh."

* * *

I pried my eyes open.

The pain was still there, dull and throbbing, and there. Hoping that pressure could ease the pain, I pressed down on my stomach and sat up, throwing the blankets onto the floor. I bit my lip as I stood up.

Matt was right, for the millionth time. I'd overexerted.

Yay for me…

After shuffling across the floor (yeah, I've never really believed in following doctor's orders- not like Matt was a doctor), I leaned against the door. What I heard relieved me… and horrified me.

Matt and Mac. Talking.

About me.

"So," Matt's voice was hoarse and grating. "Now you know."

I heard McKian sigh. "I can't believe she… how could anyone survive that? And for years on end?"

"She had that little blue book that you're holding onto for dear life."

Another sigh from McKian. "But how bad were the… how many-"

"I don't know the full extent, Mac. But I do know that she's scarred in more ways than one."

Mac kept sighing. "But the injury that she just strained- what is that from?"

"I have no clue where it's from and what caused it, but I do know that," Matt lowered his voice and restarted by clearing his throat. "Let's just say she'll have to adopt a kid."

I could feel the hot tears rolling down my cheeks. Mental scars, physical scars-

several other ones…

I don't even know how I wound up in that condition. All I know is that I woke up in a hospital bed and laid there for two weeks. (You know my past by now, right? Fourteen years in an orphanage, unwanted. Two years of what was almost Heaven on earth. Mac showing up… that was the highlight.)

So yeah… trying to keep the nightmares at bay here! Drudging up everything about me? Uh, no. Not happening. In. This. Lifetime. Or in the next ten million.

But at least Mac knew now.

One less thing to worry about… at least I hoped it was.

* * *

It took some convincing, but I managed to get out of my room with Matt's help. Standing was still a problem, so, before I could suggest a different solution, Matt was carrying me again. He laid me down on the couch in the other room. I could feel something under my head. Daring to open my eyes and see what it was, I slowly forced them open and gasped.

McKian.

I was laying with my head in McKian's lap, his hand running through my hair. Why did he always want to play with my hair? I mean, not like it was a bad thing; I just wanted to know why he played with it.

Mac smiled sadly. "Are you okay?"

I smiled back. "Why? Do I look that bad?"

His hand stopped. "Well, you're a little pale, and you can't even stand up on your own," Mac whispered. He started twirling my hair around his hand. "But you don't look bad…"

"Yeah right," I laughed weakly, wishing I could actually walk. I was so stinking weak…

I closed my eyes and sighed, too exhausted to keep them open. And, after a while, I heard someone whispering.

MAC whispering.

I couldn't make out anything he said at first, but after a few minutes, I caught one word.

"… beautiful…"

I kept listening. And then the rest was audible and understandable.

"You're so beautiful. I love you."

If I could have, I would've sat right up and told him how I felt. But I was too tired to even open my eyes, let alone sit up and try talking; my voice sounded like mud at this point.

I gave in to sleep, with really no other option, and heard McKian say again,

"I love you."


	24. Chapter 23

(Mac's POV)

"She feels the same way about you."

Startled, I jumped and looked up at Matt fifteen minutes after he laid Skigh in my lap. "How long have you been standing there?"

Matt looked down at his feet. "Here? Uh, about two seconds."

I shook my head, trying not to move too much so that Skigh would stay asleep. "No, how long have you been in the room?"

"Oh." Matt shrugged. "A few minutes." He smiled at me. "You really like her, don't you?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Don't tell her, okay?"

Matt nodded back. "My lips are sealed." His tone… I wasn't fully convinced. Had he already told Skigh that I liked her?

"Will she be okay?"

I continued playing with her hair as Matt mumbled, "I think so. I don't know. I'm not a doctor, so I can't really say."

Something tightened in my throat. I swallowed whatever it was and kept moving my fingers through her hair. The dye was just about gone. A couple days ago, she mentioned something about getting it dyed again. Did she say red dye? Or was it pink? I couldn't remember.

Matt knelt beside that couch. "You remember me saying she was scarred, right?"

"Yes…" Where was Matt going with this?

Matt slowly grabbed one of Skigh's hands. Motioning for me to be quiet, he began to pull back the glove.

I bit my lip to keep from making any noise. The marks on her hand, the red-brown lines- they looked horrible. I wanted to stop staring at them, but I couldn't.

Matt glanced up at me, then put the glove back. Skigh moaned and twisted in her sleep; Matt jumped backwards, hoping that he hadn't woken her up. He waited until she settled down before saying, "Now you see why she hides them."

I nodded, unable to say anything.

Poor Skigh.

* * *

"No, no, no, no, NO!"

Hearing Skigh protest made my stomach churn. She was very nervous.

And so was Matt.

And so was I

Matt sighed. "Look, you're not feeling any better. Maybe if you went, they could help y-"

"NO!" Skigh threw her head in her hands. "I am NOT seeing any doctors. They don't help."

"You need medicine, Skigh. You need something for the pain."

Skigh rolled her eyes and fell back on the couch, muttering, "That's why they make Tylenol."

I sat down by her. I rubbed her back, hoping that this wouldn't cause her any more pain. "Besides," Skigh said a little bit louder. "I feel better. The pain's going away." Skigh twisted on the couch, gritting her teeth as she sat up. "I'll be fine."

Matt frowned at her. "Okay. But you're still resting. No work on anything whatsoever. I'll tie you down to the bed if I have to. You're going to rest- no exceptions."

Skigh smirked. I smiled as her very white face seemed to look a little healthier. Her color was almost the same as it was two months ago when REVOLUTION got blown up. She was wearing the same grey t-shirt and black shorts from three days ago (Skigh pulled off her socks and Matt thought that little action was overdoing it. I helped her brush her hair, once I re-learned how to use a hair brush.) "One question."

Matt and I gently pulled her up. She was right; she could stand. "And," Matt asked, "that would be…?"

"Can I still use the bathroom?"

Matt laughed. "Yeah. Okay, one exception."

* * *

"Okay, we have a milkshake, chicken sandwich, waffle fries, cole slaw, another milkshake- this one's not chocolate; it's vanilla- another thing of waffle fries-"

Skigh laughed as Matt kept listing everything he'd picked up at the Chick-fil-A two blocks away. "When can we EAT it?"

Matt laughed too. "Well, looks like someone's got their appetite back," he said, sticking his hand back into the second of three bags. "We also have chicken strips, a wrap- what kind of dressing is that?!- two more sandwiches, a fruit salad, six brownies-"

I cut him off this time. "Dude, did you buy the whole place?!"

Skigh laughed again. "Yeah, Matt. I'm expecting the next thing you pull out to be their sink."

"Um, I don't think that's in here, but I also have three lemonades and- good grief!- another thing of fries!" Matt grinned. "Okay, that's all of it."

We were all at the counter in the kitchen-half of the living room/kitchen room. (Yeah, that name needed help, but it will do for now.) The wooden countertop was covered in food. I couldn't even see the counter through all the food. I stared at Matt. "Why so much food?"

Matt laughed. "Enough food for the weekend. And," he looked at Skigh, "it looks like someone's able to eat something without severe pain or puking it up!"

"Watch it or you'll be the one with severe pains and puking your food up," Skigh muttered.

Silence. Matt glared at Skigh and Skigh glared back.

And me?

Uh, I was just standing there with no clue whatsoever on how to react.

And then they both burst out laughing.

I shook my head and laughed, too. "I am so confused."

Matt and Skigh laughed harder. And so did I.

At least Skigh was feeling better. Her skin wasn't as white. It was almost its' normal color. After laying in bed for a week (Matt actually went out and bought ROPE because Skigh insisted on getting up a couple days ago), she was doing much better. For the first time in that week, Skigh had been able to change her clothes. Her blue t-shirt and black shorts (she had, I think, four pairs of black gym shorts) seemed loose. She hadn't eaten much of anything- she couldn't keep much down- in the last nine days. The dye was completely out of her hair by now and, with her hair down, its' length was halfway down her back. She still looked tired, but healthier overall.

After everyone grabbed their food, Matt pulled over his black metal barstool and I pulled over two, helping Skigh into the second one. Matt grabbed one of Skigh's hands and I took the other, making sure my fingers didn't press down on the back of her glove where her hand had been ripped apart.

Matt grinned. "Who wants to do it this time?"

Skigh shrugged. "Actually, I think you should."

"Okay, I'm not about to argue with someone who I nearly had to tie down to a bed."

Skigh smirked. "You have to sleep sometime, too, you know. And that rope's easily accessible."

Matt laughed. "Okay, I'll do it." He tensed. "You're not actually gonna do anything, right?"

"I can still pass out," Skigh replied. "So, no. No, I won't."

"Good." Matt closed his eyes, and, sitting between Matt and I, so did Skigh. I closed mine and smiled as Skigh squeezed my hand. "Dear God, we thank you for everything that you've given us. And we're thankful that Skigh's feeling better again. Please watch over us as we start putting things in motion here. Thank you for this food. Thanks again for everything. Amen."


	25. Chapter 24

(Skigh's POV)

"Testing one, two, three. Testing one, two, three." I tapped the mic. "Mac, how does it sound?"

I smiled as McKian took a couple steps backwards, leaving grey marks in the black carpet. "Sounds good. Could you try it one more time and I'll go to the back?"

Matt stepped out of the sound room on the right side of the stage. He pushed back a black curtain. "Yeah, sure," he joked, "ask the guy to do the sound check who can have super-hearing by tapping a watch."

"So instead I ask the guy who's blown his ears out with headphones?" I rolled my brown eyes and shook my head, my long blonde hair falling into my eyes. "Yeesh, I have got to get this cut. And dyed."

"Seriously, you're dying it again?" Matt asked. He adjusted his black and blue headset (the blue outline around the headphones, band and his mic lit up- a little foreshadowing there…) and itched the back of his neck. "How did you deal with all the wires running down the back of your shirt when you did Uprising? This is gonna be the death of me!"

We were doubled-checking all the wires, connections, equipment, sound- the whole works- before we started recording episodes.

And we'd checked it all- except for one thing.

A little while ago, I mentioned something about everything on the stage and the walls being black or grey. And I also mentioned that the light-up bands on Matt's headset were foreshadowing.

Here's why.

"Okay, Matt, let's test the last thing," I rasped, my throat a little dry. Grabbing my water bottle off the black desk, I motioned to him from the stage. Opened it, took a swig of luke warm, plastic-leeched water and put it back on the desk. Through the tinted window in the sound room, I watched Matt signal back with a thumbs up.

I smiled and stuck my hands in my pockets. Started wandering around the stage aimlessly. This whole this was pretty surreal; I never dreamt that my life would take this much of a turn, let alone do it in five months.

I jumped as the lights went out. Trying to see my hand in front of my face was impossible. For a few seconds, it seemed like nothing was going to happen-

and then the first pale blue glow ignited.

In the very back of the auditorium, a faint light started weaving around the rows of chairs, covering the arms and backs of the chairs.

And next came the walls. What started off as a deep blue in the darkness transformed into green and finally into yellow as it reached the stage.

The edges of the carpets in the aisles had purple lights rolling against their edges; the floor was illuminated, surrounded in a blue glow. More lights, these an extremely light blue, appeared over the doorways and the edge of the stage.

Now for the good part.

Making sure I didn't take a nose-dive off the stage, I moved to where I could see the curtains. Blue light into purple; purple into red: red into pink; pink into orange; orange into yellow and yellow into green. Now the whole auditorium was covered in a bluish glow. It looked futuristic. I smirked.

It looked like the Grid, minus the constant streams of Recognizers overhead, the guards ready to slice you in half with their discs and the lack of a "perfect" tyrant.

I noticed McKian walking down the center aisle, staring up at the coal-colored ceiling as more lights appeared. "This looks amazing," he kept repeating, his voice echoing.

Turning around, I saw the stage itself light up. Blue lights on the desk, green on the "new" computer, and a huge white one on the black wall.

I tilted my head to the side. Something wasn't quite right. Yeah, the lights were fine- awesome, actually. But there was something missing from the stage. Something like-

* * *

"Hello, everyone. If you didn't recognize me without the blue dye, I'm Skigh. And this is my new paradise. Well, actually, OUR paradise," I smiled as the tiny black camera followed me across the stage. The lights reflected in its tiny lens. (This is what happens when you leave two computer geniuses- Matt and Mac- in charge.) "This is the new set, and this," I kept talking as I spun around, making the cameras switch to get the appropriate angle; I stood facing the back of the stage, my back to the two thousand lit up chairs (yeah, that's a really big number…)

I stretched out my arms, feeling the green cargo coat seams rubbing against my arms. "This is our new home. And hopefully, we'll be able to fill this place. As for right now, it's a work in progress."

"Yeah, tell me about it."

The swivel chair behind the desk flipped around, a blur of blue light surrounding the figure. Familiar black Nikes, grey jeans, red t-shirt and black hoodie, black-blue hair falling into his face. Mac grinned. "Hey, everybody."

"And there's McKian, the crazy half." I walked over to the set's finishing touch- a green and yellow light cycle. Sat on the edge and patted it. Leave it to McKian to be carrying around a spare one.

Mac shook his head and threw his feet up on the desk. "Hmm… yesterday, I thought we agreed that you were the crazy half."

I laughed. Man, in the last two months the three of us had been laughing a lot. Wow… I'd laughed more in the last two months than I had in my whole life so far.

Not bad.

* * *

I clenched my fist, then let my eyes roll back into my head as I unclenched. "This is why you never let me edit anything! I stink at editing!" I'd almost drilled my gloved (and scarred) fist into the computer screen.

"Skigh, violence is never the answer!" Matt grabbed my hand and lowered it to the table top in the sound room. "Mac, back me up on this."

No answer.

"Mac?" Matt said louder.

Nothing.

"EARTH TO MCKIAN!"

Mac jumped, his headset falling off. The outstanding volume from yesterday's recording echoed as the glowing headset clanked off the floor. "What?" He cringed. "Sorry, guys. I didn't hear y-"

"Mac, you can stop thinking we're going to get on your case for screwing up," I replied, knowing what is felt like. He should've been over this. Maybe me getting sick, or whatever that was, had fried some of his codes. I knew he was the one sitting by my bed at night, making sure I didn't puke or waking me up when I had another nightmare.

McKian relaxed and reached down for the headset. "Okay…" I noticed his fingers shaking as he wrapped them around the headset. Maybe something with his last visit to the Grid had unnerved him? Wait, no- he'd said that nothing new had happened.

Then I saw it.

Mac had bluish-black circles under his eyes; his skin was kinda pale. He'd been staying up all night, either with me or with Matt editing the material and setting up equipment, for the last week. (Early April... we'd been here a while.)

Time to get him in bed.

"Mac. you okay?"

McKian stared at me, his eyes dull. "Y-yeah, why?"

"You seem a little shaky." I nodded at Matt as he jumped in. "You haven't slept decently in a while, have you?"

Mac traced the soft padding on the headset with his thumb. "I'm fine."

I sighed. "Mac, if you're tired, it's fine to go lay down and get some shut-eye. You know that."

"Okay…" Mac's voice faded; he almost sounded like he was going hoarse. Matt and I watched as he pushed himself out of the chair and slowly walked out of the sound room.

I poked Matt with my elbow.

"I'm on it." Matt jumped up and followed Matt I snickered as I heard him muttering, "Maybe I'll need that rope for him…"

…

Blasted alarm clock!

I slammed my sleepy fingers into the top of the black, grey and green alarm clock on the dresser by my bed. I yawned and pushed myself up in the bed, the purple and green covers falling to the floor. I looked around the room again, taking a millionth inventory of what I had in it.

TobyMac and Owl City posters. A blue rack holding every one of my twenty-six CD's to the grey steel wall. My green dresser by my bed. A couple multi-colored hanging lamps. Three carpets- one orange and yellow, one black and purple-pink, and one red. My iPod, laptop and cell phone on charge. A closet built into the wall. And Grid lights adding some warmth and color to the cold, dull walls. It looked cool.

I was still getting used to it.

After getting up and pulling on blue jeans, black socks and a grey shirt (and my key necklace with a cross on it- what? I never mentioned that I wore that thing everyday for the last two months? It was a present from McKian. And I liked it.), I walked over to the picture hanging by my window. It was an x-ray picture of the mountain house, everything displayed. I smiled and traced the frame with my fingertips, shivering as the cool wood and my skin made contact.

I winced as the shiver escalated into something more. Something…

cold.

My whole body felt like something was off. It was a harsh feeling, a bad feeling. My scars started tingling again; they felt like they were on fire. The heat from my scars clashed with the freezing shivers running down my spine. This feeling was NOT good.

And there was no way to get rid of it.

For two hours I paced back and forth, my headphones cranked and blasting the few Skillet songs in my playlist. Normally, I never listened to music like that that loud.

But I had good reason.

The chills ran up and down my spine, faster and more frequently.

That bad feeling…

something was going to go wrong today.


	26. Chapter 25

(Mac's POV)

Skigh was acting very strangely.

Her voice was uneven, her hands shook and she looked that whitish color that made me worry more about her safety.

After breakfast, Skigh seemed to calm down a little. Her skin was almost its normal color, not the white-grey color. I helped her wash the dishes, making sure that she didn't fall over while having a conversation that seemed sort of meaningless.

"Matt, we need more paper plates," Skigh said as she wiped a glass dry.

I turned around as Matt folded his newspaper, almost rolling it into a ball. "And you're telling me why?"

Skigh laughed and grabbed another colorful glass out of the water with bubbles in it. I couldn't figure out why the water needed bubbles, but Skigh said it was supposed to clean the glasses or something. "I'm telling you because my head's spinning and I'll forget."

"Okay. Plates. Paper ones. Got it." Matt picked up his cup of red juice and took sip, then spit it out. "I don't think this is mine."

I realized it was mine. That red juice tasted good. Was it apple? Or was that cranberry? Cherry? There were too many different juices! "Uh, Matt, that's mine."

Matt wiped his mouth off on his black shirt sleeve. "Dude, just dump it out. No use in drinking after me. I think I spit up some waffle in there."

Skigh shook her head and dried another glass, this one was the one Matt had had, filled with an orange liquid. "I really needed to know that, Matt. I really needed to know that your half digested waffle wound up in Mac's cranberry juice."

"Oh, sure. Now we all pick on Matt for accidentally spitting up his breakfast in someone else's juice." Matt started laughing.

I dried off my hands, the weird flowery smell of the green bubbly stuff still on them. How was I supposed to get it off? The smell was weird. It wasn't bad, but weird enough to annoy me.

So the morning was made up of Matt coughing up his breakfast out of his stomach and into my juice, a random conversation about plates made out of paper (which was apparently all we ate on- I didn't understand that), and green bubble stuff sticking to my hands.

That happened to be an average morning, except I usually ended up spilling or dropping something.

...

We'd finished getting all the stuff we needed from the grocery store, well, if we needed that much food.

Knowing us, we probably would.

And now, Skigh and Matt insisted on going to the mall again.

For hours upon hours, all we did was walk around inside it. By the time it was past five o'clock in the afternoon, Matt had eaten five pretzels, three pieces of pizza and four sodas. This guy could really eat stuff, and more than me!

I kept glancing at Skigh to make sure she was okay. So far, she'd been doing well. She hadn't fallen over unconscious yet.

So far, so good.

But something didn't feel right.

…

"Are you sure you're okay to drive?" Matt asked Skigh as he paid for three lemonades. So far, I'd found one noise that could make me a little uneasy. That sound was the sound the ice cubes made when they hit off each other. Thankfully, it was Matt's drink that had them. Unfortunately, I noticed that he had a habit of shaking his drink and making the ice cubes hit each other more.

Skigh nodded. "I'll be fine. You're just scared that I'll pass out behind the wheel and you'll start screaming like a girl."

"Yeah, you're delirious." Matt took a long sip of his drink. I jumped as he started shaking it, the ice cubes rattling. I just wanted that sound to go away. "I'm driving."

I unwrapped my straw and stuck it into the plastic lid on my drink. I never understood why straws were different colors, or why some changed colors. Why did they need to be so different? They were just straws that ended up being thrown away- unless we were the only three that threw them out with our empty drinks and everyone else collected them.

I had so many questions.

"Nope." I watched as Skigh twirled the car keys around her finger. "I'm driving. End of story."

Matt rolled his eyes. "Why can't Mac drive? He knows how to." Matt stopped and looked at me. "You do know how, right?"

I nodded. I knew how to drive. I'd watched Skigh drive plenty of times and I knew how to from watching her. But I was pretty sure I needed something, like permission to or, wait, was it a driver's license? "Yeah," I admitted, getting ready to drink more of my lemonade, "but I probably shouldn't." I'd never even been behind the wheel of one of Skigh's cars, and I didn't feel like being the one who wrecked the Roadster.

Skigh shrugged. "Fine, Matt can drive. Just no tickets! I don't need my brother getting on my case for anything else!"

Matt nodded and shook his drink again. I wanted to rip the thing out of his hand so bad and throw it so he couldn't do that! "No problem." I watched as he smirked. Yeah, no way that letting him behind the wheel was a good choice.

We started walking towards the automatic doors. Skigh handed Matt the keys to the Roadster, which I still wasn't fully convinced was a good idea.

The clear glass doors slid open. The temperature dropped slightly from inside the mall. Skigh and Matt had said that it wouldn't be really warm for a while. They said something about it only being early April, and that it would take a while for it to be warm outside.

Skigh walked over to a trash can and threw out her small and empty cup. She seemed a little on edge.

And that bad feeling was back.

I noticed someone to my left and glanced at a man stepping into the yellow-paint-marked crosswalk, his face hidden by a newspaper.

What I didn't notice was another person running into the crosswalk, not until they screamed,

"LOOK OUT!"

I saw a grey and blue blur ran into the man with the newspaper and knocked him out of the way. I also saw why.

As the tall man fell onto his back, his newspaper landing beside him, a black car (I think it was a Cadillac) sped towards the person in grey. I cringed as the car slammed into them instead, and I also cringed because I was pretty sure I knew who it was who had been thrown across the parking lot. I couldn't seem to move as they rolled over and over and finally stopped when they hit off the cement walls around the little trees that divided the parking lot.

Finally, I was able to move. I took off running, praying to the User's God that I was wrong about who had just been thrown. As I ran I heard people screaming, which didn't make me feel any better.

"Oh my Word!"

"Is she okay?"

"Who's the nutcase who was driving that car?!"

"Did anyone call 911?"

"Shut up! I'm on the phone with them now!"

"Wait, a minute! Is that-"

I blocked out the rest of the conversation fragments, feeling my heart pound harder. I took the final steps towards the person and gasped, trying to convince myself I was wrong.

But she had long blonde hair.

And she was wearing the same colors as…

Making sure I didn't move her too much, I gently rolled them off their stomach and felt myself stop breathing. "No, no, no…" It was her. It was HER.

It was Skigh.

Her grey shirt had been ripped by the hard pavement, shreds of it laying about twenty feet away. Her jeans were ripped, too. Her arms were covered in cuts and sticky red blood. And black and blue marks were already starting to appear. Skigh had a deep gash that ran down the left side of her face, hitting an old scar that ran down her neck. I still couldn't believe it, but as Matt ran up and knelt down beside us, I finally had to accept two things.

One, Skigh had just been hit by a reckless driver.

Two, she wasn't moving.


	27. Chapter 26

**PART FOUR: GRAVITY**

**"How could it be the gravity that holds me to the ground? It's pulling Heaven down…" -Royal Tailor**

* * *

All the machines-

All the noise-

All the sounds of people rushing around-

I needed it all to stop.

I just needed to think and clear my head. The air in the hospital felt heavier than the air outside, and it was definitely colder. The smell didn't help matters at all.

Sitting back in the chair in the waiting room, I sighed. I'd been sitting here for two hours. Skigh had been in surgery for most of that time, and the doctors said she'd be in there for probably another few hours.

Her injuries were pretty bad. She'd broken her left arm, as well as three ribs. Her ankle was broken too, the same one from the REVOLUTION explosion. She had a concussion. She needed stitches for several deep cuts, including the one that ran down the left side of her face. They had said more things that were wrong with her, including something about "aggravating an old injury," which I didn't quite understand.

I wanted to relax, but I was thinking too much to even think straight. Skigh kept risking her life for other people. I could understand why... sort of at least.

And this time, she may have taken too much of a risk. The doctors had also said that-

"Hey."

I jumped and looked up at Matt. He was holding two cups. "You look like you're gonna pass out," he mumbled, handing me one of them.

I sighed. "I feel like I'm gonna. I might throw up too, so..." I could feel heat coming from inside the cup. "What is this?"

"Coffee. I figured we might be here a while after talking with the doctors again." Matt took a sip of his. "Careful. It's kinda hot."

I nodded and set mine down on the table nearby. Everything in here was so dull and colorless, except for the wood on the tables and chairs, and even that was barely red. "What did the doctors say this time?"

Matt shook his head and looked away. "I..." he cleared his throat. "I don't think repeating it will make you feel any better."

"Come on, Matt. Just tell me." I had to know what was wrong.

"Okay, here goes nothing," Matt whispered as he rubbed his hands together. "Skigh's injuries were more severe than they first thought. She could end up slipping into a coma."

Coma. I didn't know what that was, but the way that Matt said it did not make it sound like a good thing at all.

I reached for my coffee and took a sip. It was a little bitter, but it would do. The taste was the last thing on my mind.

I couldn't lose Skigh. I couldn't, I couldn't, I just couldn't. After everything...

she couldn't die. Not yet, not now.

...

Two more hours had gone by.

I had spent every second of them staring at the white and grey clock hanging on the opposite grey wall. I felt colder just looking at all the cold colors.

I kept staring at the clock, watching for the little hand to hit six o'clock. Every sound echoed in my ears, and I disregarded them all.

Except one.

Those footsteps had a familiar echo. The way they clanked off the floor... I tapped on my watch, trying to verify that I'd heard the sound before.

I glanced at the screen. A picture of rotating black leather shoes, the bottoms slightly worn, appeared. And then they shrunk down to fit the outline of a person's feet. Then the person's features filled in.

I glanced up, making sure no one was watching, then looked down again. Yes, I had been right. I was-

"McKian?"

I jumped and looked up, covering the glowing screen with my right hand. The person with the familiar shoes was standing over me, grey shirt and blue jeans, I shivered; Skigh and her brother thought a lot alike.

Alex seemed taller than he was the last time I'd seen him. "McKian, are you alright?"

I was shocked. He actually sounded concerned. "Yeah. Why?"

"Your watch okay?" And the interrogative Alex was back.

I nodded and stood up. As I did, I slipped my hands behind my back. I tapped the screen and felt the heat from the screen fade. "Yeah. You got here fast."

Alex crossed his arms. I braced for the impact of his future outburst. "Dear God! My sister's ready to die and you expect me to sit on my butt at home?!"

"I never said that," I tried to backtrack. I was just surprised that he'd gotten here in four hours. It was a longer drive, so my shock was justified, right?

"I want to talk to you," Alex whispered, his voice still nasty. "Come on."

This day just got worse and worse.

* * *

"Okay, now that we're in private, I have some questions that I want answered."

I looked around. Standing outside the hospital wasn't exactly "private." There were more people out here than there were in the waiting area. "Okay," I said, trying not to sound nervous. "Ask away."

"Who are you?"

Too easy. "McKian Karson."

Alex shook his head. "No, I don't want a name! I want to know who YOU are! I know you're living with my sister now, and you probably were before, too. Who. are. YOU?"

I could easily fail at this. "I'm a person," I got that far before nearly choking on the last word, "who just needed some help. And Skigh was the only one willing to help me." That was almost completely true. Alan hadn't really supported her helping me in the beginning. Now that I was thinking about it, we hadn't seen Alan lately at all. Skigh had said something about him being busy with work.

"Yeah, the tattoos might have been the cause of that," Alex snapped.

I glanced at my arms. "What?"

"Those black things on your arms," Alex replied, talking to me like I was stupid (which in some cases I was), "might have prevented you from getting help."

I clenched my fist. "Oh, you think I got these voluntarily."

Alex nodded "Well, yeah. I mean, people usually don't get those against their will, especially ones with that much ink."

"Well, I didn't ask for them! I didn't want them!"

"Then get them removed."

I rolled my eyes. "It is not that simple! I can't get rid of these!"

"And why not?" Alex asked. "Deep sentimental value?"

"No." I wasn't quite sure what "sentimental" meant, but I figured it had nothing to do with it. "But if I told you, you'd never believe me."

Alex rolled his eyes and said, "Yeah right. It's not like you were born with those."

I kind of was... "Why are we talking about me? I thought Skigh was the main focus here."

"Oh, my sister still is. But right now, you're here, and you still haven't answered my questions."

"Yes, I have."

Alex shook his head. "Listen to me. A sponge has less holes in it than your record does."

What did a sponge have to do with anything? "And a rock has more life in it than you do."

I couldn't believe I had just said that. Of all the things to say to a guy who practically hates me!

Alex frowned. "Nice comeback there- I'll give you that much."

"Thanks." That was not the response I was expecting, but okay...

"No, let's get back on track. How exactly did Skigh help you?"

I wished that I could answer him truthfully, but I couldn't. "She gave me a chance, that's all."

"And," Alex stuck his hands in his pockets, starting to smirk, "she let you live with her... just like you are now?"

This was not going well. "Not in the way you mean."

Alex sighed. "McKian, I know that you're hiding things from me. You can tell me who you are."

"Not likely," I muttered, wishing he'd stop.

"What?"

"Nothing." I bit my lip, trying to make sure I didn't say anything to make him mad.

I just wanted this to be over.

NOW.

* * *

The whole hospital was dull.

And Skigh's room was the worst.

She looked so much smaller in the hospital gown. She looked even smaller after the nurses had covered her with the dull blankets. One of them was stupid enough to whack her injured arm. Skigh moaned and twisted, and it took everything I had in me to not scream at her.

I'd tried watching the little television in Skigh's room. The media was already reporting on the accident.

This day was probably the worst one yet. At least Skigh woke up after the cops saved her when REVOLUTION blew up. (I'd blocked out the fact that I'd saved her and just gave the cops credit. I didn't want her to know that I had dug her out.)

So many machines made noise by my head as I sat down by the bed and rubbed the back of her hand, avoiding the IV and the heart monitor on her finger. Her skin was whiter than even, almost matching the color of the sheets.

I sighed, remembering what the doctors had said, and then realized how much of it made no sense. I probably looked like a total idiot, just nodding my head everytime they said something.

What I did know was that, given her previous injuries, Skigh's chances were overwhelmingly slim.

I smiled at her, wishing her eyes would open. I wished she'd move. I wished she'd try to talk.

I wished this had never happened.

I kept rubbing the back of her hand, the nurses not caring that I was there past visiting hours. I barely heard them say something about "special privileges"... I started wondering what other privileges there were

After a while, I needed to stand up. Hoping I wouldn't hurt her, I remembered seeing something in a movie (thank you, Matt- the guy believed that you could learn everything from movies) and I decided to try it. I gently kissed her forehead, her skin felt freezing against my lips. I slowly pulled away and whispered by her ear,

"I love you."

* * *

_Yeah, i know... poor Skigh :'(_

_i appreciate the reviews- so please review! :)_

_(and goldden eyes, you're awesome!) :)_


	28. Chapter 27

(Skigh's POV)

He had been here.

I couldn't open my eyes to see him.

I couldn't talk to him.

I couldn't move to let him know I was still there, more than an almost lifeless body in the hands of machines. I wanted to.

But I couldn't.

Even with the oxygen, I could smell that smell, the smell that hospitals have. The smell that caused my skin to crawl.

Death.

And, if I couldn't pull through this, I'd be a part of it.

And McKian, knowing he was there… He probably was still trying to process it all. He probably couldn't believe that I had done something like that…

I knew my skin was cold; laying there without any ability to move or speak or do anything, I could feel it turning to ice.

I tried fighting off. I tried convincing myself that it was nothing. I tried thinking I had imagined it.

But sadly, it was real.

I knew he'd be leaving soon, or he'd pass out.

But suddenly, my icy skin started to melt, the feeling returning. My head feel warm…

And then I knew what it was.

Mac… had kissed my forehead. I didn't remember ever teaching him that; this must've been Matt's doing.

Right now, I really wished that I could have opened my eyes or moved, but the pain that I was also starting to feel held me paralyzed.

I started losing feeling again. The constant stream of noises coming from the machines turned into a loud whirring sound.

But above that, the last thing I heard was Mac.

"I love you."


	29. Chapter 28

(Mac's POV)

Being here overnight made me hope I never ended up having an injury or illness bad enough to send me to a hospital.

People were screaming. Machines were beeping and making all sorts of annoying noises. Nurses racing up and down the halls, only adding to the noise.

Skigh lay motionless. The only time she moved was when her chest rose and fell once in a long while. Her skin, if possible, got lighter and lighter.

She also got colder.

I kept glancing up at the clock, the grey moving line-thingys almost blending in with the white back. It was six in the morning. It was only two minutes later than the last time I looked.

I stood up and stretched, wishing that these chairs weren't so uncomfortable.

Standing between two large machines, I did the same thing I had done last night. I kissed Skigh's forehead again, then gently ran my hand through her hair.

After doing that, I wished that she would have moved or moaned or opened her eyes, even for a second.

I just wanted to know she was alright.

I wanted to help her.

I just wished I knew how.

* * *

Another night at the hospital.

I had managed to figure out how to sleep in one of those chairs. The only bad thing was that I woke up and it felt like my back was on fire.

"Mac?"

I jumped, nearly falling out of the chair by the window in Skigh's room. I don't even remember thinking about anything specific. Turning, I saw it was Matt. "Hi."

"You look exhausted," Matt said, sitting on the edge of the window.

I shrugged. "I'm fine." I looked at him again. "Matt, what's wrong?"

Matt's face was pale. He looked worse than I probably did. "Um… Mac, I think we need to talk about this in the… the other room for visitors."

I followed him out of the room. I stared at Skigh, wondering what was wrong now. Matt walked very slowly, and he was a little hunched over. Something was definitely wrong with him.

As soon as we were in the other room, Matt closed the door and tried to lock it. "I don't want anyone coming in here."

I frowned and pointed at a guy turned away from us, watching the television. "What about him?"

"Great…" Matt grabbed my arm and pulled me into the hallway with coat racks and two bathrooms.

"What are we doing?" I asked as he pushed the one door open and pulled me in.

He shut the door and locked it. "Hoping no one walks in here," He mumbled. Matt took a deep breath, his dark skin getting a little whiter. "Mac, there's something I gotta tell you about Skigh."

I took a deep breath too.

"Mac, the doctors just noticed another injury. Aside from everything else, Skigh has a fractured skull. The doctors think she's going to slip into a coma."

I was glad we were in a bathroom; in a minute, I might end up puking. "What?"

Matt shook his head. "They can't really do much of anything for her. If she's not improved by the end of the next two weeks, Alex has permission to take her off the machines. After a month, the hospital takes her off- without anyone's permission. And if that happens, she won't make it. The doctors said her chances aren't good."

* * *

"Following Skigh's accident threes days ago in Pennsylvania, President Nathan Rose and Congress have been working to undo former President Spender's health care law. The president addressed this last night during an interview."

I stared at the television, only the sound from the interview playing.

The president sounded uncertain, not at all like he normally did, as he said, "Skigh, right now, is in critical condition. And Skigh is also in the hands of Eric Spender's health care policies that can end her life by the beginning of next month. My two children, my wife, and I have all been praying for her and also for her friends McKian Karson and Matt Knight, who I have no doubt have been hit hard by this tragic event."

The reporter in black and red came back on the screen, the weird yellow and purple design on his tie making me sick. I turned the television off and sat there.

There had so be a way out of this.

And even if there wasn't, I'd gladly make one.


	30. Chapter 29

(Mac's POV)

"Dude, you've gotta come home and get some rest."

I glared at Matt. "No. I am staying here."

Matt shook his head and pointed to the still unmoving Skigh on the bed. "You won't be able to be here for her if you're passing out from exhaustion."

I sighed. "Okay, fine."

…

"Matt?"

"Yeah, man?"

I bit my lip. "Sorry about that earlier…"

Matt smiled. Why was he smiling? I'd snapped at him. I had to ask, "Why are you smiling?"

Matt laughed. "Dude, it's okay. You're just really worried, and you're really tired. People snap. It's normal."

I shrugged. "Okay…" I felt like I was sitting on something. 'What is this?"

I grabbed the smooth object and turned it over in my hands. Black and green and purple case.

It was Skigh's phone.

"Cool phone case."

For the first time in five days, I smiled. "I'll make sure I buy one just like it for you, genius."

Matt laughed. "Well, looks like someone's back to normal."

I shook my head. That word, that last word… "Matt, we both know I'll never be normal."

"Yes, yes we do."

I laughed too. "Shut up."

But no matter how hard or how long we laughed, I could tell that Matt was still concerned about Skigh.

And so was I.

* * *

"'All prisons have a key.'"

"Cyrus. Mac, that was too easy." Matt smirked and lounged on the hospital couch.

I smiled. "Okay, you asked for it." I had a good one this time. "Who said 'You have to start letting me make decisions?'"

Matt sat there for a minute. "Seriously? That one?" He sighed and finally gave up. "I don't even remember hearing it! Who said it?"

"The Renegade."

Matt rolled his eyes. "Yeah, like I know that. Wait, I should know that!"

I laughed, wishing I could do it without having to force it most of the time.

"So…" I could sense a question coming on here. "You two never told me who the Renegade is. And you said you would, so who is he?"

I sighed. We DID say we'd tell him… "I'll give you a hint for now."

"A hint? That's all I get?"

"For now, yes. I'd rather wait and show you," I said, glancing at the black sphere of a camera over my head.

Matt shrugged. "I'll accept a hint. What is it?"

"The tool."

"What? What kind of a hint is that?!"

I laughed. "Matt, we've seen two different programs with the same tool. And it's something a MECHANIC would use. " Now there's the hint.

"Mechanic, huh?" Matt sighed. "No. Not ringing any bells here. Are you sure-"

I jumped. Something was vibrating in my pocket.

Skigh's phone.

I grabbed it and handed it to Matt. I hoped the "send" button was the right one to hit. "Hello?"

"McKian?"

Wow, did he sound tired. "Alan? Are you alright?"

Matt jumped. "Alan? Who's Alan?"

I held up a hand. "Uh, we haven't heard from you in a while. How are you?"

"You're asking me?" Alan sighed. "How's Skigh?"

"No change."

Alan sighed again. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine and…" I still felt bad about it, so I figured that, "I'm sorry about the whole incident from before."

"It's fine, McKian. Just forget about it."

"How can I? I nearly k-" I stopped as I noticed Matt staring at me. "I almost hurt you," I whispered, turning away from Matt. There was no way to forget that I'd nearly killed Alan the first time I saw him.

"Listen, McKian, it's no big deal. And I'm on my way."

I stood up. "Where are you exactly?"

Footsteps echoed behind me. I turned and hit "end" on the phone, my watch already alerting me of who it was.

"RIght here." Alan lowered his phone too. He looked tired. He was a little white, too. His blue eyes were a little dull.

After watching so many scenes with Tron, I expected Alan to be exactly the same.

But I was wrong.

Alan smiled, a small smile, but a smile. He looked at Matt. "Who's this?"

* * *

"You are going to wear yourself out."

I didn't look up. I knew it was Alan. "I'm not gonna stop trying to find a way."

Alan sat down on the couch next to me, glancing at the others in the waiting area. Skigh was back in surgery. They had to reset her left arm, because they'd set it wrong. He patted my leg. Yeah, over the last few hours, I couldn't imagine him creating Tron. "What if there is none?"

"There IS," I replied, throwing my head in my hands. "I am going to find it. And I won't stop until I do."

"Will you at least eat something while you're thinking?"

I grinned. "I guess."

We stood up and turned down the hall leading to the elevators. Alan sighed. "So, how's everything been, aside from the whole…?"

"Everything was pretty good, up until a week ago." Skigh had three weeks left. That wasn't a lot of time.

We turned again, this time pressing against the wall to avoid a nurse with a stretcher. "So you've been learning more?"

I nodded. We stepped into one of the elevators. Alan pushed a couple buttons, then looked up at me. "Are you sure you're alright?"

I nodded again. I just hope he couldn't tell I was lying.

* * *

Another day had gone by.

And again, I was spending another day in the waiting room, wishing that they would set her arm right. This would be the third time that Skigh's arm had to be operated on.

**"When I'm dressed to the nines, I'm just a shirt and tie, with a taste for prestige, and beautiful mystery…"**

I guess until now I hadn't taken notice of the radio playing, or the speaker over my head. I hadn't heard this song yet, at least I didn't remember hearing it.

**"But clever girls dressed to kill are pretty bittersweet, and better suited for grief than beautiful mystery…"**

I shifted in the chair, wishing that it hadn't destroyed my back. This song sounded pretty good.

**"Fly by feather- this time I'm not ready to die. But I lose myself. Oh, oh- I'm falling for you. Now or never- stand back 'cause I'm ready to fly. but I lose myself. Oh, oh- I'm falling for you…"**

The singer sounded familiar, but with my brain so frazzled, I couldn't remember. I just kept listening instead.

**"She enjoys it the most with flowers in her hair, dressing up like a ghost, for beautiful mystery. So I kiss her goodnight, and stumble from the room, mighty high on mystique and beautiful mystery…"**

I jumped after those lyrics. Some of the words repeated, but by then I was still recovering from what I was almost positive was the verse. I jumped again as the song ended and someone (not sure if they're called a radio talk show host or…) started talking.

"Okay," the voice crackled out of the speakers. "That was the premiere of Owl City's new song, 'Beautiful Mystery.' Up next is…"

* * *

Matt had managed to drag me home again. I sat on the couch, rubbing my arms.

Another day had passed. Skigh was quickly running out of time.

And I was running out of time to find a way to save her.

"There's got to be a way!" I screamed, glad that Matt had gone back to the hospital. "There HAS TO!"

Thankful for the ability to be alone, and hopefully collect my shattered thoughts, I tried piecing ideas together.

There had to be something. Anything. no matter how hard or risky. Even if it got me killed-

I'd do whatever it took.

If there was only a way to reverse the damage, a way to undo every injury- maybe then I could-

I stood up and ran over to the kitchen-half of the room. Reaching into the cupboard that held cereal, I felt along the back of it, shoving my hand past the cereal boxes. I smiled as I pulled out a baton, the black of the baton blending in with the black wood of the cupboard. I was pretty sure that I didn't need any license for a light cycle.

I just hoped I couldn't get a ticket on this thing.

...

"How in the world did you get here?!"

I glared at Matt. "Could you possibly keep you voice down?"

Alan sighed. "What in the world are you doing here anyway? You need to rest."

"Okay, to answer the first question: spare light cycle hidden in the cupboard," I whispered. "Second: I couldn't sleep if I tried."

Matt gaped. "You kept a light cycle in the cupboard?"

"Yes."

"How many do you have?"

I shrugged. "A few. I can just rezz up more with the watch," I whispered again. "Enough about me! How's Skigh?"

Alan stuck his hands in his grey coat pockets. That coat was huge. "The same. The doctors are saying she won't wake up."

"I just wish someone could do something," Matt mumbled, his voice shaky.

I shrugged and pulled off my grey- no, Matt's (I must have been really out of it)- jacket. "I think I can."

"What?" Matt shook his head. "Dude, even if you become an instant medic with that wonder-watch of yours, you couldn't undo it."

"I don't need to become a medic," I retorted. "There's another way."

"Another way to what?" Alan took his hands out of his pockets and crossed his arms.

I tapped my watch, the screen lighting up. "I think I have another way to save her."

* * *

_thanks again for the reviews, guys! :)  
_

_you're all awesome! :)_

_i should be back in a week or two..._

_-Lyrics from Owl City "Beautiful Mystery"_


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